Senioritis
by Lady Liln
Summary: A look at the gang's senior year from Logan's point of view...from beginning to end. R&R! Mostly Quogan, other canon pairings.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Clearly I am insane.**

**I should NOT be starting another fanfic when I already have so many in-progress ones in need of updating.**

**But since I am insane, I'm starting one anyway.**

**This is just a prologue. Excuse the shortness.**

**OH, and if you can think of a better title, let me know. Sometimes I come up with good titles. Sometimes not so much. This is an example of the latter.**

**Review away!**

**Disclaimer: Me no own Schneiderverse.**

I'd seen nearly everyone this summer: Lola lived in a town not far from mine, so we met up one day in July and went to the amusement park. Michael had been in town one weekend when he was visiting his uncle. And my dad shot a movie on Maui for a few weeks, so I even got to see Chase and Zoey.

The only person I _hadn't_ seen since the school year had ended in June? That would be my girlfriend, Quinn.

Which means I was seriously make-out deprived. Plus, you know, I missed her. (I do like her for something besides her amazing lips, thank you very much.) And I'd like to know how Michael would feel after having not seen his girlfriend for two and a half months, let alone _Chase_, who hadn't left Zoey's side once since returning from England.

So the taunting really wasn't necessary.

"Oooh, Chase," Michael said in a girly high-pitched voice, doing a ridiculously inaccurate imitation of me. "Do you know where Quinn is? I've been back at PCA for all of five minutes, and in this room for about five seconds, and I neeeeeeeeed to see my girlfriend nooooow so we can kiss."

Chase, who is not a very good judge of when something is funny and when it's not, was laughing pretty hard at this. Michael started making little kissy-noises.

"Please," I said, rolling my eyes in a superior manner. "As seniors, don't you think we can be just a _little_ more mature than this?"

"You're right," Michael sighed. "I'm sorry." He looked over my shoulder at the doorway. "Oh, hey Quinn!"

I spun around. The doorway was empty.

"Ha!" Michael cried, cracking up. "That was priceless, man. That was seriously priceless."

So I tackled him.

We wrestled on the floor while Chase cheered us on. I had the upper hand the whole time, of course, since I'm a way better wrestler than Michael, and I nearly had him pinned when I heard Chase say, "Oh, hey Quinn!"

"Very funny," I grunted from the floor, sticking my knee into Michael's gut while at the same time attempting to get my arm out of his grasp.

"Is that any way to greet your girlfriend?" asked a much different voice from behind me. Quinn's voice.


	2. Catching Up

**A/N: Hey, thanks for the reviews, guys! Sorry it took me so long to update—I get a little obsessive over making sure I've got Logan's voice down right (I'm still not completely sure I've got it, but I'm working on it). This first bit is really just more introduction, but we'll get to the good stuff later, I promise! I've actually got a lot planned out…it's going to be a busy senior year!**

**Review, please, and enjoy!**

**EDIT: Here's your random/weird fact of the day: Apparently parantheses are not allowed in summaries of stories here on . Apparently, asterisks are not in use either, even within the stories. And apparently, if you want to type "OMG!!" with more than two exclamation points (like I tried to do with the OMG located in the story below), it will reduce it down to two !! for no charge!**

**How wonderful, eh?**

In about two seconds flat I was off the ground and kissing her.

I vaguely heard Chase and Michael grumble something about getting a room. I wanted to tell them that, technically, this _was_ my room, but then I would have had to stop kissing Quinn. And let me tell you, her lips tasted even better than I had remembered. The two-and-a-half month wait had definitely been worth it.

By the time we came up for air, Chase and Michael had left the room, groaning something about their eyes hurting.

"Hello to you too," Quinn laughed, a little breathless.

"I missed you," I told her, glad my roommates had left (I hardly needed to give them more reasons to make fun of me).

"Aw," she said, and gave me a hug before pulling away. She walked over to the single bed (mine this year—ha) and sat down. I sat next to her. It had been so long since I'd seen her in person; video chats didn't count. She was, if possible, even prettier than she had been at the end of last year. Which is one of the reasons we make such a good couple: she's the prettiest girl I know, and I'm probably the best-looking guy on the planet.

"So," she said, drawing her knees up to her chest so her heels rested just on the edge of the bed. "How was your summer?"

"Fine," I said. "Basically the same stuff I told you—surfing, lifting weights, surfing, hanging out on the film set of this new movie my dad's producing, surfing…"

She laughed a little. "I can tell," she said. "I didn't even think it was possible for you to get any tanner, but you've proven me wrong." She placed her hand on my arm, and the contrast of pale and dark was pretty huge.

"Can you tell about the weight training, too?" I said, smirking. She just rolled her eyes and smiled.

"So what'd you do this summer?" I asked, hungry for details. Sure, we'd emailed and texted and called each other all summer, but it really wasn't the same as seeing her every day like I did the rest of the school year.

"Oh, you know, the usual…walked the dog, went to the beach when it wasn't raining, took a college science course with NASA to count as my science credit for this year…"

"Yeah, that's what I usually do over my summers, too," said a familiar voice. Quinn and I looked at the door to find Lola standing there, grinning.

"Hey," I said, even though I'd already seen her before that day, when I first arrived back at PCA.

"Hey," she said. "We're all hanging out in our dorm—I'm supposed to come get you guys." It was obvious she didn't exactly appreciate having to walk all the way over here to get us, and I didn't really get why she _did_ walk.

"Why didn't you just call?" I asked, standing up. Quinn swung her legs down off the bed and stood up, too.

"Because," Lola said, rolling her eyes. "Your dorm phone's obviously not hooked up yet, Quinn left her cell back in our room, and _you_ get a new phone every month, so the number I have is way outdated."

I shrugged. She had a point.

"Just come on," Lola said. She turned and walked out of the doorway. We followed, and I closed the door behind us.

"So," said Lola. "You took a science class with NASA?"

"Yeah," Quinn said. "It counts as my science credit for this year, so I don't have to take a science class at PCA."

"All the classes here just too easy for you?" I teased.

"Well, that, and I've already taken all of them, anyway," Quinn said. Lola laughed. It was pretty impressive, in a geeky way, to have taken all of the school's twelve science courses before senior year. Who knew I would come to find geekiness so cute?

"So you're not taking any science class at all this year?"

"No," Quinn said, and for some reason she was smirking. "But I will be teaching one, sort of."

"_What_?" Lola asked, sounding as surprised as I felt. "You're teaching a class?"

"Well, assistant teaching. Mr. Smith wanted to know if I would help out with his Physics class for more credit, and I said sure."

"Mr. Smith?" We were outside now, walking beneath the warm sun across campus. I stopped dead in my tracks. "What period?"

"Fifth," Quinn said, giving me a questioning glance. "Why?"

I groaned inwardly (but not out loud, because I didn't want to make her mad—she was wearing her zapwatch). "I have Mr. Smith for Physics fifth period."

Quinn looked surprised and a bit amused. Lola burst out laughing.

"Ha!" she said. "You're going to get taught by your own girlfriend!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said, starting to walk again. "As long as I don't have to call you Miss Pensky."

"That's what you get for not taking it last year with the rest of us," Quinn said, grinning cheekily at me.

"Wait—Lola didn't take it last year either," I said.

"Yeah, but _I _have it with Ms. Lowe. Who isn't infamous for making half the students in class die of boredom."

"Oh, come on. Mr. Smith isn't that bad—he took our class on a rollercoaster last year, remember?" Quinn defended him.

"Yeah, after you suggested it."

"Did you say you had a dog?"

"What?" This time Quinn stopped walking, and blinked at me in confusion.

"Where did that come from?" Lola asked.

"Quinn was telling me what she did this summer, and she said she walked the dog. I didn't know you had a dog," I explained. Honestly, they didn't need to be giving me such weird looks. A thought popped into my head so I said it. Yeesh.

"Well, you sure pick up on things quickly," Lola said sarcastically. Quinn just sighed.

"Yes, I have a dog," she said. "My parents got him after Otis died, because they wanted a new pet, but something they could actually bring in the house."

"Otis died?" I repeated. This was news to me.

"Some boyfriend you are," snorted Lola. She was being unnaturally mean today, but that was probably because—well, okay, I didn't know why. Probably some girl thing. Maybe she was PMSing (not that I'd ever suggest that to her as the reason for her mood. She'd probably kill me with a spork).

"He died about a year ago," Quinn told me. "Which was _before_ we started going out," she said pointedly to Lola. Lola just waved her hand dismissively.

"Are we going to get there before my fortieth birthday or what?" she said.

She was no more than five minutes closer to her eighteenth when we arrived at room 101. It was the exact same room the girls had stayed in last year, in the same building, but it looked a lot different, because none of the posters or wall decorations or whatever were up yet—just three beds and a lot of suitcases.

The rest of our friends were already seated throughout the room, which was apparently The Place to flee when I was kissing Quinn, as evidenced by Michael and Chase lounging on the single bed. Zoey wasn't actually seated, but instead unpacking her stuff with the enthusiasm of a criminal sentenced to public service (she had a _lot_ of clothes to unpack).

"Hey guys," Lola greeted everyone. The three of us crossed the room and sat on the bottom bunk. "What are we talking about?"

"Well, Chase here was just regaling us all with tales of his amazing Maui adventure with Zoey," Michael said with a lot of obviously faked interest in his voice. "So far, we've made it to day two, in which we hear the oh-so-exciting tale of Zoey and Chase's romantic walk on the beach, holding hands while the water lapped at their toes and the setting sun cast a brilliant pink glow over the world—" Michael's monologue was cut off by Chase whacking him in the face with a pillow. I laughed.

"If you don't want to hear it, fine," Chase said pouting (yes, the boy actually pouts). "And I guess I won't tell you about all the cool celebrities we met either…"

"Ooh, celebrities!" Lola said, bouncing a little in her seat on the bed. "Tell me, tell me!"

"I'll tell you all about them later," Zoey assured her. "It was _amazing_."

"Yeah, like when we met Brad Pitt," Chase said, causing Lola to squeal in delight.

"And he told you you needed to hit the gym!" Zoey giggled. We all cracked up at that—I, for one, never planned to let Chase forget it now that I knew. Chase flung the pillow he'd used to hit Michael across the room at my head, but I caught it and grinned at him.

"Lift some weights, your throws will get better," I advised.

"Well," Chase said, obviously trying to regain some dignity. "What about when Rudolph Lauren heard you talk about how much you hated his new fall line?"

Zoey put her hands on her hips and turned to face Chase, turning a faint shade of pink. "Okay, one, it's _Ralph_ Lauren. Two, it was hideous! I had every right to criticize."

"Still, you didn't get much of a tip that night…"

"Okay, moving on," Quinn said, interrupting the brewing argument (which Zoey would clearly have won anyways, as Chase is so stunned to have gotten her at last he's ridiculously paranoid at saying or doing anything that might cause him to lose her). "How was your summer, Michael?"

"It was great!" he enthused (okay, quick explanation: Quinn made me read the dictionary last year to prepare for our SATs. It was torture. Now I know all these words that I never wanted to, and I can't stop using them!). "I spent most of it with my grandma, helping her in the garden, the kitchen…she makes the most amazing chocolate chip cookies, you have _no_ idea."

"So," I said. "I spent the summer surfing, Quinn took some genius class with NASA, Lola got signed by an acting agency, Zoey and Chase met celebrities in Hawaii, and you made cookies with your grandma."

Another pillow came flying at my head, but I managed to block it, too.

"Did I tell you guys?" Lola said, excited by the mention of her big summer achievement, which we had received news of back in July, by way of an email with a subject line that said "OMG!!" and the body of which was in all caps and fifty-point type. "I'm going to an audition next week."

"That's great!" Zoey said. "What's it for?"

"A football commercial. I'm auditioning for the part of Crazed Female Fan."

"You know nothing about football," I pointed out.

"But she's got the crazed female part down!" Michael said, then ducked as yet another pillow sailed across the room.

"Vince is going to teach me," Lola sniffed. "Which reminds me—I should probably go. I promised I'd stop by his room later. Hey, do you guys know who he's rooming with?"

We all shrugged or shook our heads.

"No idea," Quinn said. "Who?"

"James!" said Lola.

"Really?" Zoey exclaimed. "Wow, that's great! We'll be able to see him all the time now."

I glanced over at Chase, whose face was carefully impassive (darn dictionary…). I knew he didn't like James much. James was a great guy, and the rest of us were all still friends with him—Zoey especially—but Chase just couldn't get over the fact that he'd dated Zoey while Chase was in England. I mean, way to hold a grudge.

"Well, if you're going," Michael said, either oblivious to the tension or choosing to ignore it, "we should probably go too. We have an entertainment system to set up."

"Oh, I got that covered," I said, standing. "I'm paying Firewire to do it."

"Sweet," Michael said. "I hope he's done. I got this great new racing game that I want to try out."

"Sounds good," Chase said, also standing up. "Shall we?"

"We shall," Michael said. "After you, dear sir."

"Not at all, my good chap. After you."

I rolled my eyes at their stupidity. Chase had come back from England with a slight accent, and people still teased him about it, though it had faded within a couple weeks. So I was probably going to have to put up with a lot of exaggerated British accents this year.

"Quinn, will you help me unpack this stuff?" Zoey asked, gesturing to her various suitcases. Quinn nodded and went to unzip a large duffel bag.

"Well, see ya later," I said, following Lola, Michael and Chase out the door. Quinn looked up and gave me a little smile and a wave. I winked at her.

It was good to be back.


	3. Yum

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! Remember, if you can put my story on Story Alert or whatever, I'm sure you can leave a review, too…in fact, if you can read my story at all, you can leave a review! :)**

**This isn't my favorite chapter, but it's not bad, and the really good stuff (in my opinion, anyway) is coming up soon. Thanks for reading, don't forget to review, and I hope you enjoy!**

Okay, Physics wasn't so bad.

The first day was. Mr. Smith has got to be the most boring person on the planet. His voice, his clothes, his hair, his "teaching method", even his _name_ is boring.

But he's also happy to leave the actual front-of-the-class teaching to Quinn, while he sits in his desk and grades papers and plays solitaire on the computer.

The second day of class I walked in to find Quinn standing on her tiptoes as she wrote something across the board (something about a dude called Newton?). She didn't notice me come in, so I sneaked up behind her and whispered hotly in her ear, "I hear you _really_ know your stuff."

Well, she jumped and shrieked and dropped her marker, and I laughed. She glared at me reproachfully (adverb, meaning "with resentment or blame" according to my best friend Merriam-Webster) as she bent down to pick up the marker.

"Is there a problem, Miss Pensky?" Mr. Smith called from the back of the room, looking up from his game of Minesweeper.

"No," she said, still glaring daggers at me. "I'm fine."

"Sorry, teacher," I said to Quinn with a smirk. "I didn't realize you were quite so jumpy." The bell rang, and I went to sit down with the rest of the class. I glanced at Quinn before taking my seat and saw that she was smiling slightly, despite the "reproachful" look she'd just been giving me. I grinned to myself and settled down to listen to her lecture.

To be honest, I didn't learn much more with Quinn teaching than I would have with Mr. Smith. I guess that was because of my inability to pay attention to what she was actually saying. Instead, I'd just watch her walk around the front of the room, and listen to her voice as she talked animatedly about science, and by the end of the lesson I would know nothing more except that I was craving a javaccino and she looked really, really good in green.

By the end of the second week it was already so bad that Mr. Smith held me back after class to talk about my grades. I was walking out with Quinn when he called my name. I told her to go on ahead, but she just smiled and said she would wait, and anyway, why would she want to miss an opportunity to see me get in trouble?

Yeah. Supportive, I know.

"Mr. Reese," Mr. Smith said seriously when I reached his desk. "Do you know what your grade in this class is?"

Well, I had a pretty good idea, but it's not like there were any report cards going around the first two weeks of school. I shrugged.

"An F," Mr. Smith told me. "School has been in session approximately ten days and already you have an F. Now, I know you are not generally a straight-A student, but I wasn't expecting this, either. What seems to be the problem?"

He pushed his reading glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and looked at me in a way that was probably supposed to invite confidence but made me feel like taking a long nap.

"I think I'm distracted," I explained. He wanted the truth, after all.

"Distracted? What could you possibly be distracted by?"

"Quinn," I said. Let's see what he made of _that_.

Apparently he didn't make much of it, from the way he was blinking at me in confusion.

"How could you be distracted by Quinn when she is the one teaching the class?" he wanted to know. Mr. Smith sure was oblivious—not necessarily because he didn't know that me and Quinn were dating, but because he obviously didn't pick up on the concept of male-student-being-distracted-by-hot-female-teacher.

"Well," I said, pretending to consider. I knew Quinn was probably listening as she waited for me in the hallway. "I think it's mainly the amount of short shorts she wears."

He still didn't get it, and continued to look at me like he was completely lost. I sighed.

"I'll try to concentrate more," I promised. That was enough for Mr. Smith, and he sent me on my way confident he had cured me of all my attention-deficient tendencies.

I met up with Quinn outside the door, and we were barely out of earshot of Mr. Smith when she smacked me on the arm.

"Ow!" I protested. "What was that for?"

"My short shorts are distracting you?!"

"Well," I said, taking the hand she had just hit me with and swinging our joined hands back and forth as we walked. "They _are_ awfully short." She huffed. "But maybe you could tutor me privately." I raised an eyebrow suggestively.

She rolled her eyes, and we spent a happy few minutes arguing as we walked back to the lounge hand-in-hand. Zoey and Lola were sitting on the couches when Quinn and I walked in, having resolved our disagreement with a kiss (works every time and is _way_ more fun than getting zapped by her watch).

"Hey Lola, hey Zo," Quinn greeted them.

"Oh, hey!" Zoey said, looking up from her laptop. "I've got an idea for our English project.

Quinn sat down next to Zoey to discuss their project, and I took a seat across from Lola.

"Whatcha working on?" I asked conversationally.

"An audition," she said, not looking up from the papers in her lap. I knitted my eyebrows in confusion.

"I thought the football commercial audition was last week."

"It was," she said. "I'm still waiting for the results on that one. My agent, Marie, says it's important to keep pushing on and going for more commercial auditions."

"Oh," I said. "So, when are you going to start auditioning for real stuff?" She shot me a dirty look over her papers.

"Lots of stars got their start by doing commercials," she said haughtily (adverb, meaning "with haut"…or something).

"Sorree," I said, holding up my hands. "So what's this one for?"

"Chef Boyardee," she said. "You know, the food company. I'm trying for the part of Pleased Customer. Here, will you read lines with me?"

"Uh," I said.

"Great." She shoved the papers into my hand. "Start at 'This is delicious.'"

"Right." I cleared my throat and read from the script. "This is delicious!"

"Yum," Lola said, gesturing widely.

I looked down at the script. I flipped it over, but the other side was blank.

"That's it?" I said incredulously. "'Yum'?"

"That's it," she confirmed. "Let's do it again."

"Why do you have to practice saying _yum_?"

"It's my only line, and it needs to be perfect," she insisted. "My yum needs to knock the socks off the director. My yum has to be better than everyone else's yum. Now read!"

"Fine," I said, a little scared by her vehemence. "This is delicious."

"Yum!" Lola said, rubbing her stomach and smacking her lips. She waited about half a second, then dropped character. "Do you think that's too much? I thought about licking my lips, but I'll probably be wearing lipgloss during the commercial. What seems more authentic to you? Should I draw out the 'm' or keep it short and casual? I mean, how realistic is this, anyway? How often do _you_ say yum when you eat something? No matter how good it is?"

"Um. I don't really—Vince!" I said in relief, spotting her boyfriend across the lounge. I got up and yanked Vince away mid-sentence from the football coach, plopping him down next to Lola. "Babble to him," I instructed her. She began to do so immediately, and I turned to Quinn and tapped her on the shoulder.

"I'll catch you later," I told her, then left the lounge. I needed to play some basketball.

* * *

I was working on my free throws—remembering to keep my elbow tucked in close to my side—when I saw Coco, the girls' dorm advisor, walking past the basketball court.

"Hey, Coco," I called to her. She looked up, saw me, and walked in my direction. As usual, she was eating, this time a quickly-melting fudgsicle.

"Where you headed?" I asked her, tucking the basketball between my arm and side. I was pretty sure she wasn't really going anywhere, seeing as she didn't have much of a social life (besides a lifelong romance with food).

So I was surprised when she said, "Date," giggling in that hiccupy way of hers.

"Then you might want to wipe some of the chocolate off your face," I said. "Carl off parole, then?"

"No," Coco said. "I dumped him."

"Ah," I said. "Good for you. Isn't he usually the one who does the dumping? So, when are you getting back together again? Tonight, I guess?"

"Never!" Coco said. "I dumped him for good! It's been two months now. He just didn't treat me right, you know? Remember the soft pretzel I got for Valentine's Day? And the date when he took me to McDonald's and then wouldn't buy me the combo meal? Or—"

"Okay, okay," I cut her off before her rant could gain any steam. "So, if you're not going out with Carl, who are you going out with?" I wasn't getting a good feeling about this. I remembered all too well the disastrous date with the Dean…

Coco smiled happily. "His name is Dan," she gushed. "He's _amazing_. He owns a company that makes ravioli! A ravioli company!"

"I see," I said, beginning to understand the attraction. "And is he…anything like Carl?" I just couldn't imagine Coco with anyone else after all this time (although you could have said the same thing about Quinn and Mark up until last spring, and look how _that_ had worked out for _me_.).

"Well," Coco said. "He's never been in jail, and he doesn't have any tattoos or a motorcycle, but he is just as _dangerous_. Like a _tiger_." She giggled again. This wasn't sounding good at all.

"Okay…" I said.

"Ooh, here he comes now!" She grabbed my arm with her sticky, chocolate-covered fingers in her excitement.

"Where?" I asked, scanning the nearby parking lot for any dangerous-looking guy.

"Right there." She pointed. "Getting out of the station wagon."

Well, "station wagon" just about summed it up. The guy was skinny, balding, dressed like it was still the nineties, and those _glasses_—the nerdiest glasses in existence, the square-like ones with the thick black rims and…wow. Yep, he just screamed dangerous.

"Well, have fun with Dan the Dorky Ravioli Man," I said. I don't think she even heard me. She squealed and practically ran to the poor guy (well, ran as much as her high heels would allow). I just hoped she didn't squish him upon arrival; she had to weigh at least twice what he did.

She'd be back with Carl before midnight, I was sure of it.


	4. Uh Oh

**A/N: Hey guys! Thanks so much for all the reviews! I love reviews; they motivate me to keep writing, so keep the reviews coming and you'll get your chapters! ;)**

**Okay, in my opinion, we're finally getting to the good parts, so thanks for bearing with me this far. Oh, and btw, if you're a Quogan lover (like me) you should check out my LiveJournal (link is in my profile...for some reason I'm not able to post it here****) where the most recent entry is a long, long post/blog thing all about Quogan, and why they're so cute and explaining my love for them and stuff. And you don't need to have an LJ to read it (though you do to comment on it—it's a free service, and you don't have to start your own journal), so that's some fun stuff right there. :P There's pictures, too!**

**One last thing: I didn't think the teacher from Rollercoaster had a name, so I named him Mr. Smith. But apparently he's Mr. Berringer or something. So, sorry, but his name is now officially changed to Smith. It sounds more boring anyway.**

**On with the story!**

"Argh!"

I just didn't _get_ it. I'd practiced _constantly_ while he was in England, yet Chase could still manage to beat the crap out of me at this stupid racing game every time. I mean, seriously. Why _was_ that?

"Sorry, dude," he said with a grin, not looking sorry at all.

"That's three out of three," James said. Me, Chase, James and Michael were in the lounge, about a month into the school year, sprawled out over the couch and beanbags. It was Friday, but we didn't have any classes, due to some teacher conference thing. So this was what days off were for: sleeping in late and then playing video games nonstop for hours straight.

"I know," I snapped. I threw down my control and moodily flopped onto a beanbag. "How're you so good at this?"

Chase shrugged. "I played a lot of SpeedRacer with Collin in England. He was better in me, so I had to get even better to beat him."

"Collin?" Michael repeated. "I thought you said he was a nit."

"Well, yeah," Chase said. "But so is Logan. And I'm still friends with him. Don't really know why…"

"Funny," I said grumpily.

"Best four out of five?" Chase said with a smirk.

"Not likely!" I said.

I was taking an irritable sip of Blix (bet'cha didn't know it was possible to sip irritably, did you? Well, think again) when Quinn walked into the lounge.

"Hey, guys," she said, taking a seat on the beanbag next to mine. "What's up?"

"Hey," I said.

"Not much," Chase said casually. "I've just been kicking Logan's butt at SpeedRacer, is all."

"Aw," Quinn said. "Is that why you were sipping all irritably?" I grunted in response.

"So what're you up to?" Chase asked her, sitting on one of the arms of the couch.

"I just came to ask Logan if I could borrow his car."

"What?" I looked at her, surprised. "What for?"

She was referring, of course, to my super-cool silver sports car that I'd bought sophomore year. Which, you know, had led to my dad cutting me off from money for a week or so, but he gave it back when I learned how to drive.

Not many PCA students had cars, even if they could drive, because truthfully we really didn't get off campus that often. I had one, and Michael had his so-called "classic" that his dad had given him, and Zoey had gotten a car at the beginning of the year (a small, practical little economy car, that came with the condition that she drove Dustin to wherever he needed to be whenever he needed it), but that was it out of our group of friends. One of the best things about being seniors, though, was an agreement we had to sign at the beginning of the year that said we could leave campus whenever we needed to, provided we told our dorm advisor first where and when we were going.

"There's a science convention in Malibu this afternoon," Quinn explained. "It's a really prestigious event, and you actually need an invitation to get in. This is the first year I've been invited, and I'm _so_ excited. Remember Paige? She's going to be there too. And I heard Stephen Hawking will be a guest speaker. How cool would that be? I think I'd die if I got to meet him. I mean, _Stephen Hawking_."

"Oh," I said, figuring it would not be in my best interest to tell her I had no freaking clue who Stephen Hawking was. "That's cool."

"So, can I borrow your car?" It was hard to say no when she looked so adorably excited, but I had to.

"Sorry," I said. "It's in the shop."

"Really?" she said, looking surprised. "For what?"

"Just routine stuff," I said. "You know, belts, plugs, hoses…"

"More vanity mirrors so he can look at himself…" James put in. I glared at him.

"Sorry, babe," I said to Quinn.

"That's okay." She turned to face Michael, who was lying across the couch playing a handheld video game. "Michael? Do you think you could give me a ride?"

"Sorry," he said. "I have a track meet at five. You can borrow my car if you want, though."

Quinn sighed. "I don't know how to drive stick shift," she said. She glanced at me.

"Hey, I have no idea either," I said. James and Chase shrugged, too.

"It's easy, really," Michael said. "You just have to stomp the—"

"Yeah, whatever," Quinn cut him off.

"Why don't you ask Zoey for a ride?" Chase asked.

"She's driving Dustin to a soccer game. Apparently the bus broke down, so everybody on the team has to find their own way to get there."

"Coco?"

"She's on a date with Dan." Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Really?" I said in surprise. "Dan the Ravioli Man? They made it to the second date?"

Quinn gave me a funny look. "Second date? More like eighth."

"What?"

"Yeah, Dan's all she's been talking about since the beginning of the year. It's almost as bad as when she used to cry about Carl."

"But at least she's happy, right?" James said.

"I guess. It would just be nice if she kept her happiness to herself on occasion, instead of barging into our dorm room at one o'clock in the morning to tell us what a fabulous night out she just had."

"Wow," I said. "And I didn't think they'd last."

"Well, I guess they are," Quinn said. "Anyway, I should go call a taxi." She stood up from her beanbag.

"Wait, why didn't you do that to begin with?" I asked.

"Because the taxi driver that always shows up smells like feet," she said, wrinkling her nose cutely, "and I haven't yet figured out how to blast him with my deodorizing spray without him noticing. Anyway," she stooped to kiss me on the cheek, "I'd better get going. See you guys later."

"Bye," I called after her. "Have fun at your science thingy."

"Will do!" she said as she left the lounge. When the door had shut behind her, Michael turned to me and raised an eyebrow.

"You have no idea who Stephen Hawking is, do you?"

"Nope," I said. "Hey, Chase—best four out of five?"

* * *

I was walking down the hallway of the girls' dorm about an hour later, having just gone to meet up with Amanda Schwartz, my partner for a history project, to discuss what we were going to do—in other words, to charm her into doing all the work. I was just passing by room 101 when a hand reached out and yanked me inside.

"There you are," Zoey said as Lola shut the door behind me. "We've been meaning to talk to you for forever."

"Any particular reason?" I asked, rubbing my arm (Lola had some _sharp_ nails). "Wait, weren't you driving Dustin to a soccer game?"

"I just got back," she said. "Anyway, Quinn's gone, so we thought now would be a good time to ask you what you were planning on giving her for her birthday."

"We just want to make sure it's not something totally lame," Lola said.

"Qu-Quinn's birthday?" I repeated. I was beginning to get a cold feeling in my stomach.

"Yeah. Oh, did we tell you? We're all going to go to Sushi Rox to celebrate. She just wanted something low-key, so we're going out for dinner."

"Hold on," I said. "Quinn's birthday?"

"Yeah," Zoey said. "We…" She trailed off. She and Lola stared at me for several long moments.

"Oh my God," Lola at last said quietly. "He forgot."

"You _forgot_?"

"How could you forget?!"

"I cannot _believe_ you forgot Quinn's birthday!"

"Some boyfriend you are!"

"Wait, hold on!" I said, holding up my hands. "I didn't forget, I just…" I floundered for something to say.

"Forgot," Lola said. "Yeah. Nice going."

"It's on Sunday, idiot!" Zoey said. "You do realize that's the day after tomorrow, don't you?"

"Um," I said, feeling panicky. "Shoot. Now what?"

"I don't know. It's your problem, not ours," Lola said, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Here," I said, digging in my pockets for my wallet. I grabbed a fistful of hundred-dollar bills and held them out. "Just buy her something for me, okay?"

"No way!" Zoey said angrily. "She's _your_ girlfriend; _you _have to buy something for her _yourself_."

"Oh, come on!" I said desperately. "Please?"

"Nope," Lola said. "Not happening."

"Argh!" I stuffed the money back into my wallet and started pacing around the room. "Well, what should I get her? What does she like? What does she want?"

"Shouldn't you be figuring this out yourself?" Lola said.

"Girls like clothes, right? Should I get her clothes? Oh, who am I kidding, I don't know anything about buying clothes—look." I spun on my heel to face them again. "I'll pay you. Just, _please_—"

"Nothing doing," Zoey said unsympathetically.

"Fine," I said heatedly. "I'll just—I dunno. She likes science. And…science-y stuff. Should I get her, like, a new chemistry set?"

"Oh god," Lola said disgustedly. I shot her a look.

"I'm trying to save my butt here!" I said. "If you have any better suggestions let me know!"

"I could think of a few," Zoey mused. "But I'm not sharing."

"You're the worst," I told her, resuming my pacing. "I guess I could get her some cheesy piece of jewelry…it always works in the movies…usually the guy gets her some cheesy necklace or something and then she loves it and then she kisses him…"

"Logan," Lola said, sounding amused. "Have you been watching chick flicks?"

"No!" I snapped. "I just—nevermind. Look, will you _please_ help me?"

"You're going to have to figure this one out on your own, mister," Zoey said, pushing me towards the door. "Have fun."

"Just keep in mind that you'd better come up with something good and make her happy," Lola advised, "or else we'll have to kill you. Painfully."

"But—" I said as Zoey shoved me into the hallway. "I—"

"Bye!" Zoey said, and slammed the door in my face.

I was so screwed.


	5. Bad Advice and Good Ideas

**A/N: Again, thanks for the reviews! You guys are awesome! It makes me giddy to find reviews in my inbox. ;) I love to hear what you have to say about my story! As long as you keep liking and reviewing it, the chapters will keep coming out!**

**This is sorta a short chapter, sorry 'bout that. But enjoy!**

* * *

I was on edge the rest of the day, trying to think of what to get Quinn for her birthday. My mind was completely blank, and when I saw her get out of a taxi that evening I nearly jumped out of my skin. Nervousness made me jumpy.

"Hi," she said, smiling when she saw me.

"Hi." I hoped she didn't notice the slight panic in my voice. "How was your…thing?"

"It was great," she said. "I'll tell you about it later—I have to go wash the scent of feet off of me." She shuddered.

"Yeah, okay," I said. "See you."

She waved and walked away, and I realized I had no clue what we had just said to each other. This was a whole new kind of distracted.

This was _bad_.

I could barely sleep that night. And I woke up the next morning still worrying (the answer hadn't come to me in a dream like I'd hoped). I had exactly one day to buy Quinn the best birthday present she'd ever gotten. It's not like I was running through a list of ideas and rejecting them—I honestly couldn't think of a single thing. I was a desperate man.

If you _really_ want to get an idea of how desperate I was, consider this: I called my father. I actually called my father.

"Your girlfriend, eh?" he said, his voice sounding staticky over my cell phone. "Well, son, I'll let you in on a little secret: women love anything cute and cuddly. And expensive. For instance, I once forgot the wedding anniversary of myself and one of your stepmoms. So I got Chauncey to drive down to the most expensive pet store in town at the last moment and buy the cutest little puppy he could find."

"Dad," I said. "She was allergic to dogs. That's why she divorced you."

"Oh," he said. "Right…"

Chase and Michael were no help either.

"I dunno, man," Michael said. "Girls like clothes, right? Just get her some clothes. Or…like, science stuff. You know, like a new chemistry set or something? Or some cheesy piece of jewelry."

"Thanks for the help," I said sarcastically.

"No problem," he said, and left to go play some basketball.

"Zoey's birthday was over the summer," Chase said, beginning to get his dreamy and stupid-looking 'Zoey face'. "First I made sure she got the day off work, then I paid for her to get a massage. We went for a long walk on the beach and a swim. I took her out for a romantic dinner and gave her a necklace and a photo album with pictures of her and me together from—"

"Do me a favor," I said, "and shut up."

Lola and Zoey were still no help. They shot me warning glances all day Saturday, as though reminding me of their "or else". Like I wasn't already stressed-out enough. I mean, who would have thought that stopping to talk to Quinn on the bench that day would lead to so much anxiety? Not that I regretted it, of course, but if this stress continued much longer, I was going to start getting zits.

And Logan Reese did not get zits.

Chase and Michael were both out Saturday night, so Quinn came over to watch a movie. But I couldn't concentrate on the movie _or_ on her, and when the credits rolled, I realized that I once again had no clue what had just happened.

"Logan? You okay?" Quinn put her hand on my arm, and I jumped about a foot into the air.

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Great! Perfect!"

"Are you sure?" She looked worried. This was stupid. _I _was the one who had screwed up, yet _she_ was worrying about _me_.

"Yeah, I'm good," I croaked. "Perfectly fine."

"Well, then"—she stood up and swung her bag over her shoulder, still giving me a slightly unsure look—"I should go. I promised Zoey and Lola we'd have dinner tonight—well, more like Zoey promised us. She's _always_ on dates with Chase, so we decided we'd just have a girl's night out tonight."

"Right," I said. Dinner would have been such a good present—okay, fine, an average present—but with the plans Zoey and Lola had already made for tomorrow night, I couldn't even do that.

"Well, bye," she said, hesitating at the door. I could tell she was still confused by the way I was acting. So I shook myself and got up to give her a very long, very passionate goodnight kiss. I wasn't yet so out of it that I couldn't do _that_. Plus, it got my mind off of things for a few blessed moments.

But then she left, and I went back to imagining what would happen tomorrow when I told her I hadn't gotten her a gift. She'd probably dump me on the spot. Or start crying—and I could _not_ handle it when a girl cried (well, I had made _one_ exception last year). Or maybe she'd kill me with one of her Quinnventions.

Things were not looking good.

I was staring out the window, feeling generally crappy, when it came to me.

The perfect present. Something she wanted _and_ needed. Something cute and expensive (not cuddly, but hey, you couldn't have everything). Something that would definitely _not_ look like a last-minute gift from someone who'd forgotten her birthday. Something I thought she'd love. The perfect present for the perfect girl…

Grinning, I picked up my phone and began dialing. It was time to place my order.­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

I arrived at our usual breakfast table the next morning to find Lola, Zoey, Chase, Michael and Quinn already there. Lola and Zoey began shooting me all sorts of glances the moment I came into view—questioning, accusing, warning, blah blah blah…I just smiled blandly at them.

"Good morning, beautiful," I said to Quinn, leaning in to give her a long kiss. "Happy birthday."

"Do you have to do that here?" Lola complained. "I think I just lost my appetite."

"Oh, like you and Vince aren't just as bad," Zoey said.

"Morning, Logan," Quinn said, smiling at me. I grinned and took the seat next to her.

"How's your day been so far?" I asked, stealing a strawberry off her plate.

"Delicious," she laughed. "Until you took my breakfast away."

"Sorry," I said around a mouthful of strawberry.

"It's okay," she said. "I'd still like to taste it, though." I didn't need any further invitation to lean forward and kiss her again.

"Okay, seriously," Michael said. "I have to agree with Lola here. Some of us are trying to eat."

"Sorry," I said, not meaning it one bit.

"It's my birthday," Quinn said. "You have to put up with it."

"She has a point, you know," Chase admitted.

"Fine," Lola muttered, stabbing her fork into her pancakes. "Just wait until it's _my_ birthday."

"Oh, stop," Quinn said. "Want a strawberry?"

"Okay!" Lola said, and perked right back up again.

I poured myself a glass of milk, then said, "Oh, and I'm taking you out for lunch today, just so you know."

"Really?" Quinn said, sounding surprised. "But we're all going out for dinner, anyway."

"I know," I said. "But I want to take you out for lunch, just the two of us."

"Aw," she said.

"Where are you going?" Zoey asked curiously.

"Pete and Sam's," I answered.

"I love Pete and Sam's!" said Lola.

"You're not coming," I told her.

"Oh, boo," she pouted.

"So, Quinn," Chase said. "What are your plans for today—you know, besides mealtimes?"

She shrugged. "I don't really have any. Just hanging out with you guys, I guess."

"Oh, hey—how was your science convention dealio yesterday?" Michael asked. "Did you get to meet Stephen Hawking?"

"It was great! I did—look, I even got pictures with him!" Quinn took out her cell phone and passed it around.

"I'll be right back," I said, and took the opportunity to walk a little ways away and pull out my own phone. I guess I was never going to get to find out who this Stephen guy was, but I had more important things to attend to.

"Hey," I said, when the person on the other end of the line picked up. "This is Logan Reese. Is it ready?"

"It's on its way, sir," the person said.

"Well, will it be where it's supposed to at twelve sharp?"

"Exactly noon, sir."

"And you did everything I told you to do? The little embellishments, I mean?" (Embellishments—one of the more fun words I had learned last year. It's just fun to say.  
Try it. EmBELLishments. Okay, moving on.)

"Yes, everything's been carried through exactly as you said, and our worker will be delivering it exactly at noon."

"Great," I said. "Should I make the payment now?"

"You can do it online, sir. Is that all?"

"Yeah, that's great, thanks," I said, and flipped the phone shut. It looked like everything was working out perfectly.

I took my seat at the table again just as Quinn was putting her cell away.

"What was that about?" she asked curiously.

"Just taking care of a little business," I said, smirking. "Are you going to eat that grapefruit?"

We finished up breakfast and trekked back to the lounge to play a little three-on-three foosball. Yesterday I had been dreading it, but now I just couldn't _wait_ till noon.

* * *

**Bwahahahaha! Yeah, I know, I'm evil. Don't worry, you'll find out what it is in the next chapter. For now, have fun trying to guess just what he got her! Review!**


	6. Great Expectations

**A/N: Okay, once again it's a pretty short chapter, so I'm sorry! But I think it's pretty good…the first part, anyway. You finally get to find out what Logan got her! Hope it doesn't disappoint. ;)**

**And thanks SO MUCH for all the great reviews, you guys. I was shocked at how many I got last chapter! (Yeah, a good kind of shocked) That just made me so happy; I hope you continue to enjoy the story!**

**Oh, and again, since I love plugging stuff…if you're a big Quogan shipper, and you want to read more about them (hear my thoughts on Quogan, look at pretty screenshots of Quogan, etc.) just go to my livejournal—the link is in my profile (or just go to ladililn. livejournal. com (minus the spaces)). You don't have to have a LJ to read or comment or anything, and you can share all your thoughts on Quogan and read all of mine!**

**On with the story.**

* * *

We hung out in the lounge for a while, playing foosball and pool and, in the girls' case, watching _Girly Cow_. Then the girls went back to their dorm room and I beat Chase at SpeedRacer three times because he was distracted by grilling me about what I had gotten Quinn for her birthday. I didn't tell him, but I _did_ get the second highest score on the game.

I was waiting in the parking lot for Quinn at exactly twelve. I called the person delivering her present to make sure everything was in place, then leaned against the hood of Coco's car to wait. This was going to be _good_.

Quinn showed up not much later, having changed into a kind of pink, light, spring-y dress.

"Hey," she greeted me.

"Happy birthday," I said, wrapping my arms around her and kissing her for the third time that day. "You ready to go?"

"Sure!" she said. She glanced around confusedly. "Where's your car?"

"Oh, it's still in the shop," I said casually.

"Then, if we're not taking your car—how are we getting there?"

I shrugged. "I dunno—how 'bout we take yours?"

"What?" she said, perplexed. "But I don't—"

Right on cue, a sky blue Volkswagon Beetle (or Slugbug, or Lovebug, or just plain Bug, whatever you want to call it) with a giant yellow bow on the top drove up in the parking lot and stopped in front of us. The horn honked once, then a uniformed driver got out of the driver's seat and held the door open.

"Happy birthday," I said again, not able to keep the grin off my face.

She stared open-mouthed at it for several long moments. Then she turned to me.

"You—I—You got me a _car_?" she practically shrieked.

I shrugged. "Well, now you won't have to worry about getting a ride next time you want to go to one of your science thingies. It'll always be available, isn't a stick shift, and doesn't smell like feet." I winked at her.

"I—But—Logan, you can't get me a _car_!"

"Why not?" I asked, drawing my eyebrows down in confusion. "Don't you like it?"

"No, it's amazing!" she cried. "But, I mean, it's _way_ too expensive, for one thing!"

"Oh," I laughed, understanding now. "Just get in the car; you're letting all the cool air out."

"Logan—"

"In." I gave her a tiny push towards the car, and she didn't need much more prompting to climb in behind the wheel. I shut the car door, handed the uniformed guy fifty bucks, and ran around the front of the car to the passenger's side.

"Oh my god," Quinn said when I'd buckled myself in. I followed her eyes to see where she was looking: at the little built-in vase all Beetles came with, in which there was a single yellow tulip.

"You remembered?" Quinn said, her eyes filling with tears. (Girls sure were emotional. But at least these were the happy kind of tears, instead of the angry/sad ones I'd been afraid of yesterday.)

"They're still your favorite flower, right?" I said anxiously. "Because I—"

I was cut off as she kissed me. But that was just fine with me.

* * *

"Your boyfriend gave you a _car_ for your birthday?" Lola exclaimed.

We were all at Sushi Rox: me, Quinn, Lola, Zoey, Chase, Michael, Lisa, Vince and James, grouped around a big table and eating—obviously—sushi.

"Yep," I smirked. "Makes your little dinner-and-massage package seem kinda lame, doesn't it, Chase?" Chase rolled his eyes.

"Well, I loved it," Zoey reassured him, kissing her boyfriend on the cheek.

"You know…" Lola said, glancing sideways at Vince. "My birthday's just next month…"

"Oh god." Vince buried his face in his hands.

"Michael, I seem to remember what you got me for _my_ birthday…" Lisa began.

"Yeah, thanks a lot, Logan," Michael said, glaring at me. I shrugged innocently.

"Well, we can't all be multimillionaires." That earned me a few more glares, but whatever, it was true.

"Are you sure your dad won't cut you off again?" Zoey asked me.

"Nah. For one thing, it was a lot cheaper than my car, and for another, it's for someone else. I'm being thoughtful-slash-generous. My dad's always saying I should be more thoughtful-slash-generous."

Lola stared at me for a little while, then she turned to Quinn.

"Okay, what Quinnvention did you use to make _Logan Reese_ thoughtful-slash-generous?"

"Hey!" I protested. Quinn laughed.

"It wasn't me," she said. "I blame it on the body-snatching aliens Firewire swears he's seen around campus."

"All right, already," I said grumpily. "This is Quinn's birthday, not everyone-make-fun-of-Logan-day."

"Didn't you hear?" Chase asked. "_Every_ day is make-fun-of-Logan-day."

Of course I was about to hit him with a completely biting comeback, but Zoey changed the subject before I could.

"So, Quinn," she said. "When are you going to give us a ride?"

"Well, not tonight," Quinn answered. Kazu began to clear our table as we finished up dinner. "It's a little too dark, obviously. But tomorrow after school, I promise."

"Good," Lola said. "I love Slugbugs. Ooh, here's the cake!"

We all sang (badly), Quinn blew out the candles, and we each got our slice of chocolate cake. Everybody was talking and laughing, but Quinn, I noticed, was suddenly quiet. Her elbow was on the table, and her chin was in her hand, her two braids swinging forward to hide her face a little. She seemed to be thinking, but with Quinn you never really knew. I nudged her foot under the table.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She started, then smiled at me.

"Oh, nothing," she said. "I was just thinking—I have no idea what _I _should get you for _your_ birthday."

I laughed. "You don't have to worry about that for a while," I said.

"I know," she replied. "But really, what do you get the guy who has or can buy everything?"

"Hey, Quinn," Zoey interrupted. "Here's your present from me and Lola. Happy birthday!"

"It's not a car or anything," Lola said, "but, as Logan so kindly reminded us, 'we can't all be multimillionaires'." I smirked.

I focused on my piece of cake after that, but I was vaguely aware of Quinn getting new clothes and…various other things (that cake was _really_ distracting). Everything was going great, until…

"I've gotta admit, Logan," Lola said after polishing off her second piece of cake. "Not bad for a last-minute present. I mean, you must have had to pay extra to get it here so fast—"

Lola broke off so abruptly I suspected Zoey had kicked her under the table (especially given the glare Zoey was shooting her). Lola's eyes grew wide, realizing what she had just said, and she took a large gulp of milk.

Quinn, meanwhile, had paused, her fork halfway to her mouth.

"Last minute?" she said suspiciously. I noticed James was smirking into his cake a little and gave him a swift kick to the shin.

"Ow!" he said. Everyone turned too look at him. "Um, nothing," he mumbled.

I cleared my throat.

"Uh, yeah…" I said, thinking quickly. "You know, it took me a while to find the perfect present for you…but, I'd been thinking about it a while and stuff. It's not like I wasn't planning ahead. It's just that I only decided…recently." I cut off my rambling before it could get any further and dig me any deeper into a hole. Lola snorted at my words, but unfortunately I was not at a good angle to kick _her_ under the table.

"Right," Quinn said, still sounding suspicious.

"Um." I swallowed. "I love you?" Maybe _that_ would work…

Quinn rolled her eyes, and I knew she hadn't fallen for it. But she laughed and fed me a bite of cake off her fork, and I knew I was forgiven.

Life was good.

* * *

**See, no cliffhanger this time! Review!**


	7. The Delicate Concept of Balance

**A/N: Okay, **_**again**_** I have to thank you all so much for the reviews. It means so much to me that you're enjoying the story! And I do mean to reply to some of the reviews when I get the chance, but things are sort of busy at the moment. Anyway, I'm glad you liked Logan's present to Quinn…hope it didn't disappoint. ;)**

**Read, review, enjoy!**

* * *

"Nice haircut."

"I know," I said. I walked into Room 101 (without knocking) and flopped down on Zoey's bed. Zoey sitting on the couch with her laptop, and Quinn had her glasses off and was looking in the mirror.

Quinn tucked a lock of wavy, half-down half-up hair behind her ear. She had cute ears. Wow, that was a weird thought.

"Do you think I should get contacts?" she asked to the room at large. "Or give myself laser eye surgery?"

"Like you did for Mark?" Zoey said, looking up from her laptop. Involuntarily, my hands curled into fists, which was stupid. Mark was a lame idiot; _I _was quite possibly the coolest guy in existence. I mean, even _Stacey Dillsen_ had dumped Mark (apparently he didn't exhibit enough excitement when she unveiled her cotton-swab bust of his head, so she threw the fake head at his real one and told him they were over). Obviously I had nothing to fear from such a loser.

"Yeah," Quinn said. "Logan, what do you think?"

Honestly, I thought she looked better with her glasses—she just wasn't Quinn without them—but I'd learned enough from my dad's dealings with women to know that these sort of questions were pretty much lose-lose situations, whatever you answered. So I said, "No comment."

"Oh, come on," she said, turning to look at me with puppy-dog eyes (she knew how easy I was to manipulate). "You must have an opinion."

"Um," I said. I got off the bed and wrapped my arms around her. "I think you look beautiful no matter what." I could be a politician with answers like that, but the important thing was that girls always fell for the mushy stuff.

Except Quinn, apparently.

"Nice try," she said, then pulled away to pick up her glasses and put them back on. "And nice haircut."

"Thanks," I said with a smirk. "Ready to go?"

"Go where?" Zoey asked from the couch. I shrugged.

"I dunno. Out?"

"Where are _you_ going?" Quinn asked as Zoey put away her laptop and stood up. Zoey smiled.

"To meet up with Chase," she said.

"Again? Haven't you already seen him, like, twice today?"

Zoey looked offended. "Once at breakfast, once at lunch, and one brief meet-up in the lounge. That's not that much."

"Yeah, for a married couple," I said. She rolled her eyes.

"Bye, _Quinn_," she said, putting extra emphasis on ignoring me as she left. As if I cared. If it was permanent, I might be worried, but chances were she'd forget all about her annoyance with me after five minutes of being with Chase, and then later on she'd have to find something new to get annoyed with me about. Oh yeah, can you say predictable?

"Where are we going?" Quinn asked again as I pulled her out of the room after Zoey.

I didn't answer, since I wasn't really planning on going anyplace in particular, but I ended up leading her to a little place behind some bushes—where we had met up more than a few times during our secret relationship, where we had decided to start dating, and where Michael had definitely not seen us hugging.

Sure, we'd been public for months, but everyone needed some privacy once and a while.

Especially since I had something of a rep to keep, which might be ruined if I was seen Eskimo-kissing my girlfriend. Anyway, we sat down on the grass and just hung out for a while, talking between all the kissing (not always of the Eskimo variety). If you'd have told me six months ago I'd find it so easy to talk to Quinn Pensky about anything and everything, I'd have probably called you crazy and then laugh for about half an hour at the sheer ridiculousness of such a thing. But a lot had changed in the last six months.

Actually, now that I thought about it, our six-month anniversary was probably coming up pretty soon. I hoped Quinn didn't expect me to get her anything big or expensive, because my dad _was_ a wee bit ticked that I'd bought another car without asking him last week. Seriously, he gives me a credit card and says I can buy whatever I want, then when I buy something really worthwhile he gets upset? What kind of crack joint is he running here? (Okay, I heard that on a cop show, and it sounded fun to say.)

I spent a good hour or so with Quinn before I got a text from Michael telling me I was late for our two-on-two basketball game. That hypocrite. He's _never_ on time. ("Hypocrite", by the way, is a word I know especially well, after Quinn laughed for five straight minutes when I said "hippopotamus" by accident.)

"I should go," I said, rolling my eyes. "Michael needs to get his butt kicked at least once daily to keep him in his place."

"That's fine," Quinn said, referring to the fact that I needed to leave, not Michael's daily dose of butt-kickage. "I have to go work on my chemical defibrillator. I need to make sure it's depolarizing the critical mass as much as possible while still terminating the arrhythmia, because I'm not sure if it allows the sinoatrial node to reestablish normal sinus rhythm. I mean, I checked my ingredients against the corresponding parts of the electrical option—"

I nodded along like I understood as she went on. And when I got sick of the long words that probably Merriam-Webster didn't even know, I cut her off with a kiss.

We parted ways, and I stopped by my dorm to grab my basketball before heading to the courts. Not that I didn't like spending time with Quinn, but a guy needs balance in his life: a healthy mix of girlfriend time and sports with his peeps. (Quinn laughs at me when I say "peeps". She actually laughs at me quite a lot, now that I think about it.)

Chase, however, apparently doesn't understand this delicate concept of balance.

"Man, where _is_ he?" Michael said loudly, startling several nearby freshmen.

I shrugged. I was sitting on my ball in the middle of the court, shielding my eyes from the hot sun. We'd only been waiting for Chase for, say, the last fifteen minutes.

James sighed as he hung up his phone. "He's still not picking up," he told us.

"He's probably still with Zoey," I said.

"Do those two _ever_ spend any time apart?" Michael griped. "I've barely even seen Chase in the last few weeks. And we're roommates!"

"How are we supposed to play two-on-two when there's not two twos of us?" I asked. (Hey, it made sense in my head.)

James shrugged. "I guess I could call Vince to come play with us," he said.

"Yeah, okay," Michael said. "Seriously, though, we gotta _do_ something."

"About Zoey and Chase?" I said. "Good luck with that. They haven't been separated once since he was in England. Like, they're making up for the time they lost by spending every waking moment together."

"It's always been like Chase to be so…_lovestruck_," Michael said. "And I can understand that, I guess. But he never used to blow us off for Zoey before. Much."

"Yeah, but they weren't 'the happiest couple alive!' before," I mocked.

"He's on his way," James said as he hung up with Vince.

"Right," I said, standing up to make some free throws. "Hey, look—there's Coco with Dan."

"Dan the Ravioli Man?" Michael asked, turning towards the parking lot to look.

"Yeah, getting out of the station wagon." I pointed.

I guess Coco saw me point, because she dragged Dan over (in all his dorky-glasses glory) to the court to talk to us.

"Hey, Coco," Michael said, raising a hand.

"S'up?" said James.

"Hi, guys," Coco giggled. She seemed to giggle a lot around this guy, but I couldn't imagine why. I saw nothing giggle-worthy about him. Plus, it was a little confusing to have Coco so happy all the time—I was used to her sobbing, not _giggling_. "Have you met Dan?"

"Well, not officially," Michael said. We all shook hands with Dan. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and smiled at us. Seriously, how hard can it be to find a pair of glasses that don't look like he borrowed them from Betty on _Ugly Betty_ and made them uglier? Not that I watch that show…

"Hello, boys," he said. He wrapped his arm around Coco's waist. "Coco and I were just on our way to a ravoli tasting for my company. I'm trying to decide between oregano, olive oil, or turkey for a new flavor."

"Right…" I said. From the way Coco was looking at him, I could tell she was in love, though whether with Dan or the idea of turkey ravioli, I wasn't sure.

"Well, have fun," James said.

"We will!" said Coco, sounding positively delighted. "Oh, and Logan—try to make sure your girlfriend doesn't blow up the school. Again. She's working on her chemical defrizzilator thing."

"Defribulator," I said.

"De_fibrillator_," James corrected.

"Whatever. Bye, guys!"

"See you."

We watched them make their way back to the parking lot. Then the silence was interrupted by Michael's cell phone buzzing. He read the screen, then gave a humorless laugh.

"What?" I asked.

"It's from Chase. It says, 'Stop calling me. I'm busy.' Yeah, busy with Zoey."

I shook my head. "We have got to do something."


	8. Intervention

**A/N: Yay, new chapter! You have no idea what a hard time I had finding the patience to sit down and write this. But it's here now, so enjoy!**

**And good guesses, all ye who thought they'd go the intervention-route again. I guess I'm even more predictable than I thought!**

**Thanks again for all the reviews; you guys seriously rock my world. Don't forget to review after this chapter! ;)**

* * *

It was like déjà vu all over again.

There were some differences. No webcam, for one. And James was there. And I didn't attach a padlock to the door.

But I did stand behind it, and quickly closed and regular-locked it as soon as Chase entered the room.

Chase spun around when he heard the lock click, and he let out a groan.

"What now?" he asked resignedly. "I swear I haven't been hanging around Gretchen. I haven't even seen her since last year."

"This isn't about Gretchen," Michael said, sitting down on the lower bunk. "It's about Zoey."

"Zoey?" Chase repeated. "What about her? We've already done this. I already admitted I love her. Remember? I shoved Logan into a desk. Ring a bell?"

"Yeah, I remember, thanks," I said. "This is about…" I glanced at James and Michael, not really sure where to start.

"We think you've been spending too much time with Zoey," Michael said, cutting right to the chase. To the Chase. Ha.

"What?" Chase said, drawing his eyebrows down.

"You've been spending too much time with her," Michael repeated.

"Yeah, like every waking moment," I chimed in. "Seriously, when was the last time when you _weren't_ with Zoey?"

"Well, now comes to mind," Chase said sarcastically. "What are you guys talking about? I have not been spending too much time with her."

"Yeah, you have," I said. "We never even see you anymore, because you're always with her."

"I see you all the time. In class, in here…we're _roommates_."

"Chase," Michael said. "What have you been doing all day today?"

Chase shrugged. "I've been in the library, doing homework."

"With…?" James prompted.

"Zoey. So you're saying because I was studying with Zoey today, I'm spending too much time with her? That's ridiculous."

"No," I said. "We're saying because you were studying with Zoey today, blew us off yesterday to spend all day with her, went on a date with her the day before, and pretty much haven't left her side since last May, you're spending too much time with her."

"I have _not_ blown you guys off for her. Name one time." Chase crossed his arms across his chest, looking annoyed.

"Yesterday?" James said. "When we were playing basketball?"

"Tuesday? When you left in the middle of a game of SpeedRacer?"

"What about last Saturday, when we were all going to go see a movie, and you never showed up?"

"And—"

"All right, already," Chase said, holding up his hands. "I'm sorry. But seriously, you think I should spend _less_ time with Zoey? My girlfriend? You think I should start blowing _her_ off?"

"No," Michael said. "Don't blow her off. But yeah, you need to spend less time with her."

"She's my _girlfriend_," Chase said, irritation showing on every inch of his face. "Why would I want to spend less time with her?"

"Because we're your friends, man," I said. "And you need to spend time with us, too."

"Oh, so I'm just supposed to go up to Zoey and say, 'Sorry, I can't hang out with you anymore, because my so-called _friends_ seem to think we don't spend any time apart, when clearly, we _do_.'"

"No," James said. "You should definitely not say that."

"Look, man," Michael said. "We miss you, is all. It's hard to talk to you when you're always around Zoey. What happened to guy time?"

"I thought you were my _friends_," Chase said angrily. "I thought you were supposed to be _supportive_ that I finally got the girl I've been in love with for the past three years to go out with me. But now you don't want me to date her anymore?"

"We never said that," Michael said. "We just said you've been acting like you're married already, or something, and it's not healthy to spend all of your time with one person. Even if she's your girlfriend and you're in love with her. You need to spend time with us, too, and stop blowing us off. It's not that hard. You don't need to get so worked up about it."

"Who's worked up?" Chase demanded, gesturing widely in a definitely worked-up way.

"Look, we're not trying to break you and Zoey up," James said in a placating tone. "We just don't think you need to be with her so much."

Chase stared at James for several long moments. Then: "Oh my god! That's _exactly_ it! You _are_ trying to break us up!"

"_What_?" I said, completely bewildered at what Chase was saying. "No we're not."

"Yes, you are," Chase said, glaring at James with a wild look in his eyes. He began to pace back and forth, still gesturing like he did when he got angry or nervous or whatever. "You're jealous." He pointed an accusing finger at James. "You're jealous because _I_ got the girl and you didn't, and you still love Zoey. You want to get her back, and you just thought the perfect little way to do that would be to get me to break up with her! Well, guess what. It's not happening. We love each other, she _doesn't_ want to get back together with you, and your little plan didn't work. So there." He let out a big breath and crossed his arms again, still glaring.

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," James said calmly.

"No kidding!" I said, indignant. "James got over and moved on from Zoey forever ago. And tell me, if _he's_ jealous, than why are Michael and I agreeing with him?"

"You're jealous too!" Chase cried. "Logan, you were always trying to get her to make out with you, and now you're _all_ trying to steal my girlfriend!"

"What the _hell_?" I yelled (dear Saint Quinn, excuse my French). "That makes absolutely no sense! Need I remind you I have a girlfriend?"

"Jealous," Chase said stubbornly.

"Then what's _my_ excuse?" Michael asked, spreading his arms. "I have never dated nor exhibited any wish to make out with Zoey. Am I jealous too?"

"Probably!" Chase said, but you could tell he knew his argument was losing steam.

"Look, this is stupid," James cut in. "We're all getting upset over nothing. This shouldn't be that big a deal."

I didn't answer, still glaring at Chase.

"_Thank you_, James," Michael said. "I agree."

Chase looked at us all, then let out a big sigh. "You're right," he said. "Sorry. For, you know, getting mad and accusing you all."

"It's cool, man," James said.

"Now will you please just _calmly_ listen to what we have to say?" Michael asked.

"Fine." Chase crossed to the single bed and sat down on it. "Talk."

Me, Michael and James looked at each other.

"Well," I said. "We just think—maybe you should only spend like an hour or two with Zoey every day. Like, go on a date or something, but still hang out with us some. That's all we want."

"But you guys aren't making any sense," Chase said, trying and failing to keep the frustration out of his voice. "I'm _not_ spending too much time with Zoey. I'm spending a perfectly reasonable amount of boyfriend-girlfriend time with her. And I see you guys every day. I don't see the problem."

"Dude, when was the last time we all really hung out?" Michael said. Chase opened his mouth to reply, but his cell phone buzzed before he could.

"Hold on a sec," he said. He flipped his cell open and read the screen, then looked up at us with a nervous smile.

"Listen, I know this is gonna look bad, but I gotta go meet Zoey," he said, standing up and swinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"Chase, no," I said.

"Man, this is _exactly_ what we're talking about," Michael said in exasperation.

"I promise we'll finish talking later," Chase said. "Promise. See you."

"Chase, wait," James said, but Chase had already unlocked the door and practically ran out of the room.

There was a moment or two of silence.

"Well, _that_ went well," I said.­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

_Swish_.

"Ha," I said. "I told you that shot wasn't impossible. I win."

"How did you do that?" Michael asked incredulously.

"I got skills, man," I answered, throwing the ball at him. He caught it just before it nailed him in the face. "That's H-O for you, H for James, and nada for me."

"I'm just having an off day," Michael said grumpily. He launched the ball at the hoop; it hit the rim and bounced back off.

"Or an off lifetime," I said.

"Shut up."

"Hey, can I play?"

The three of us turned. There was Chase, coming towards us on the court, with his stupid bushy hair and his stupid apologetic smile.

"What are you doing here?" I asked rudely.

"Yeah, shouldn't you be with _Zoey_?" Michael asked. "I think she needs to buy a shorter leash."

Chase looked down at his toes, scuffing the heel of his shoe on the clay surface. "I told Zoey what you said yesterday," he said kind of quietly. "I thought it was funny. But she thought about it, and we talked about it, and we realized—" He paused.

"What?" I said impatiently. He swallowed and looked up.

"That maybe we have been spending a little too much time together," he said. "I'm sorry for blowing you guys off so much."

"Did Zoey tell you to say that?" Michael asked suspiciously.

"Well—yeah," Chase admitted. "But I would have anyway. I really am sorry. I miss you guys too."

"Really?" I asked, still skeptical.

"Yeah," he said, grinning a little. "Sure, I've got a girlfriend, but who am I without my best friends?"

"Cool," James said with an easy smile. "You're forgiven, man."

"Thanks." Chase's grin got wider. "Logan?"

"Fine," I said grudgingly. "I forgive you too. As long as you promise you're not going to blow us off for Zoey again."

"I promise. Michael?"

We all turned toward Michael. He was sniffling, if I'm not very much mistaken.

"Allergies," he explained in a broken voice, then pulled Chase in for a bear hug.

James and I both gave Chase guy-hugs. Quinn once said she didn't understand why we, as guys, did that.

"I mean," she'd said, "I know you're perfectly capable of a _normal_ hug. So if two guys can hug girls normally, why can't they hug _each other_ normally?"

"'Cause," was all I'd had to say to her, "It's not manly."

Anyway, Chase grinned again as he pulled away from the final guy-hug.

"So," he said. "Can I play, then?"

I looked at my watch. "Whoops, sorry," I said. "I have to be somewhere."

"Where?" Chase said, his grin slipping a little.

"I have a date with Quinn," I explained. I tossed the ball to Chase. "Here, you guys have fun."

"Actually," Michael said. "Lisa and I are going to catch a movie…"

"…with me and Eliza," James finished.

"Who's Eliza?" I asked.

"My lab partner in science. Anyway, we'd better get going if we want to make it."

"Right," Michael said. He gave the ball to Chase. "Catch ya later, man."

"Wait, what?" Chase said. "You're all just going to go on dates and leave me here? What happened to spending time together?"

"You snooze, you lose, man," I said. "You may want to schedule ahead next time. See you."

"Bye," James said. Michael gave a little wave, and we turned to leave a spluttering Chase behind on the basketball court.

"Well, now that's just rude," I heard him say as we walked away.


	9. Classroom Escapades

**A/N: Sorry for the little wait for this chapter, guys. Darn school…**

**Thanks AGAIN for all the great reviews! You guys are amazingly amazing. I'm so glad you like my story! I hope it continues to live up to expectations. ;) And, for those of you who are reading my story without reviewing (I know you're out there, since I get alerts when someone favorites my story or whatever) thanks to you, too! If you ever feel like dropping a review, I'd love to know what you think!**

**Erm…oh, btw, on the livejournal I've been plugging at every opportunity? Well, you don't need to be a member to comment anymore. So go spread the Quogan love!**

**Anywho, enjoy and review!**

* * *

I was doing better in Physics.

Mostly because Quinn was rewarding me with particularly sweet kisses every time I got a question right on the homework or a test. She didn't teach class _every_ day, but most days, yeah, she was the one at the front of the room lecturing on rollercoasters or whatever while Mr. Smith pretended to do work and left on long coffee breaks.

Now, I don't normally flirt with teachers (for what I think are some very obvious reasons), but in Quinn's case I was glad to make an exception.

"Miss Pensky?" I said, raising my hand in class one day while we were all supposed to be working on homework. "I have a question."

Quinn rolled her eyes at my oh-so-subtle insolence, and came over to my desk.

"What, Logan?" she whispered, so as not to disturb the other students, whom I'm sure were very intent on their work. Yeah, right.

I gave her the signature Reese smirk, well known to make girls melt for generations (how else would you describe my dad's grand total of seven wives? That's more wives than most people have had girlfriends). "Wanna go make out?" I asked.

Quinn flushed. "Logan," she hissed. "Not now."

"Why not?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, when have you ever turned me down on that?"

"In case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of _class_. Later."

"Mr. Smith?" I said loudly, not taking my eyes off of Quinn, and not taking the smirk off my face.

"Yes, Logan?" Mr. Smith replied (wow, he was actually in the room for once).

"May I please go to the bathroom?"

"Of course you may."

"Thanks." I stood up, winked at Quinn, and strolled casually from the room. Once outside, I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall in the hallway outside the classroom to wait.

I didn't have to wait long.

No more than thirty seconds later Quinn slipped out of the door and stood in front of me, her hands on her hips.

"We shouldn't be doing this, Logan. I cannot _believe_ you just made me do that."

I spread my arms innocently. "Hey now, I didn't make you do anything! I just offered."

"Oh, and I'm just supposed to not take you up on that?" Quinn said, sounding definitely annoyed.

"Well, it's not _my_ fault I'm irresistible…"

"Oh, just shut up and kiss me already."

Well, I was happy to comply, and we made out for several minutes against the wall, before:

"_Quinn_? _Logan_?"

We pulled apart and I looked up, slightly dazed, for the source of the words. My hands were on either side of Quinn, who was pressed against the wall, so I had to turn completely around to see…Zoey.

"I…Zoey…" Quinn stuttered, tugging on her hair and the bottom of her shirt to get herself straightened out.

"Is _this_ what your little 'teaching job' entails?" Zoey asked, looking part amused and part disapproving. Quinn turned slightly pink.

"No…we were just…"

"Sneaking out of class to make out," Zoey nodded. Quinn couldn't really deny _that_.

"What are you doing here?" I asked Zoey, trying to take a bit of the attention away from us.

"I have Biology down the hall with Ms. Malette," Zoey said. "And I should be getting back. Well, you two…have fun. But not too much."

"Right," Quinn said weakly as Zoey started to walk away. "Later, Zo…"

"Now," I said once Zoey had turned the corner, "Where were we?"

"Logan!" Quinn cried, ducking out from underneath my arm after I placed my hand back on the wall. "We're going back! That was _way_ too close, and _way _too embarrassing!"

"But—" I tried to protest.

"You go in first," she said, giving me a little shove in the direction of the classroom. "I'll follow in a minute so it doesn't look like we're together."

"Where do I get the feeling we've done this before?" I mock-wondered out loud. "'Course, that was months ago…"

"Oh, shut up," she snapped. "Now go in."

"One more kiss before I do?" I asked, grinning cheekily. Like always, I got what I wanted—and then I was practically pushed back into the room where Mr. Smith sat, still oblivious, both to our out-of-classroom escapades and to the two guys near the front of the room who were shooting spitballs at some nerd's head.

I didn't lure Quinn out of the classroom after that, because I knew she'd pretty much go ballistic on me if I did (wait—is ballistic necessarily a bad thing when it comes to kissing? Then again, she does have her zapwatch…and the ankle laser…yeah, better not to risk it). But Physics became my favorite class of the day, because it _was_ pretty fun to flirt blatantly in the middle of the class, especially since Mr. Smith never caught on, or even realized the students in his class were talking half the time.

Yeah, he's a nice guy. But like I said, oblivious.

Oftentimes I'd raise my hand, pretending to have a question or to not understand just so Quinn would come over and "help me with my homework". Note the quotation marks. Because there wasn't a lot of work going on.

"Quinn," I complained one day when we were given a worksheet to complete. "I just don't get it. I think I need extra help…some _private tutoring_." I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively.

"Okay, well," she said, leaning against the table I sat at so that she was just barely sitting on it. (We have assigned seating in Physics, and by chance I have to sit in the back, where Mr. Smith's desk is, but on the other side of the room, and nobody sits next to me. This is particularly useful when Quinn comes by to talk to me, which is pretty much every day.) "Maybe I could arrange with Mr. Smith for you to have some private lessons with him after school. He's _always_ happy to help students who are having trouble understanding."

Ha. It was kind of fun when she played the whole hard-to-get thing (not that I didn't already _have_ her, but you know…). Definitely a more interesting way to pass the time than memorizing Newton's laws of commotion or whatever the heck they're called.

"I just don't think Mr. Smith _has what it takes_ to educate me properly…I need someone with a little more _experience_." A perfectly innocent sentence. If you take away my various inflections.

"Well, then, maybe Gerald could help you!" Quinn suggested, still managing to sound perky and chipper despite the quiet voices in which we were forced to speak during class. She gestured to the nerd who was the target for most of the world's spitballs. "He's great at Physics."

"Quinn," I said, giving her a slight pout. "That would be great, but I'm not so sure how Gerald feels about dim lights and soft music as we study. And I'm not sure how _I_ feel about taking Gerald anywhere near my bed, in all his spitball-covered glory."

Quinn tilted her head to the side. "Logan," she said innocently. "Just what are you trying to suggest here?"

"That maybe we should do a little private studying of our own, teacher?"

"Well, if you really think I'm the only one for the job, I guess you've got yourself a study date," Quinn promised me with a wink. Finally. She'd nearly taken it a bit too far with the Gerald thing.

Gerald. Urgh.

"Great," I said, grinning. "We can discuss magnets and gravity and stuff…"

"Magnets and gravity?" she said, quirking an eyebrow. "Any particular reason?"

"Oh, you know," I said casually. "All that fatal attraction stuff?" Quinn laughed.

"I'm not sure that kind of attraction is _always_ fatal…"

"Well, I—"

"Quinn?" another voice interrupted me. Quinn turned her head. It was Alex Craine, another senior student in the class, who had spoken, from the table in front and to the right of me. What did _he_ want?

"Sorry," he said apologetically. "It's just, he's not the only one who needs help, you know…"

"Oh!" Quinn said, blushing slightly. "I'm really sorry…What did you need help with?" She gave me a quick smile, then went to go help Alex with his homework.

Stupid Alex.

Alex is Shirtless Dave's little brother (Dave graduated last year). He looks a lot like his brother, except less muscled, and he actually wears a full set of clothing every day. I don't really know him so well; except that he apparently got the brains of his family and he's on the golf team, like me.

He's also really good at Physics. So I had to wonder why he needed help.

Okay, if it was just that one time I wouldn't have thought anything of it. But in the coming days I couldn't help but notice that he asked for Quinn's help nearly as often as I did. And he seemed to smile at her unnecessarily when she was teaching him the answers to questions I'm _sure_ he didn't need explained (I mean, who smiles when discussing electromagnetism? Really?). And I knew it wasn't my imagination that he went out of his way to touch her a lot—like, when she tried to take his pencil to show him something, he didn't let go right away, and their hands would brush each other.

And I know it sounds like I'm just being an overreacting, overprotective, jealous boyfriend here. If I told Quinn what I was thinking, that's probably exactly what she'd say. She might think it was sweet, but she definitely wouldn't believe me…

…so it was up to me to put that idiot in his place.

Which is why I did what I did best: I flaunted what I had. I could do it with my dad's money, and I could do it with whatever I had used that money to buy, and I could do it with Quinn.

One Friday it was really too much. He'd made her laugh at some lame joke (not that I'd been eavesdropping, or anything). Jokes, lame or otherwise, were not part of your typical professional student-teacher relationship. It was time he learned that.

We had about five, ten-ish minutes after the lesson before the bell rang to talk or annoy Gerald or do whatever we felt like doing. Alex was reading some stupid book (okay, I honestly have no idea whether or not his book was stupid, but to me, everything associated with him was stupid), but I could tell he was keeping an eye on Quinn, who was talking to a couple of girls near the front of the room. Perfect.

"Hey," I said as I came up to Quinn. "Want me to take those for you?" I lifted the heavy textbooks she was holding out of her hands and tucked them under my arm. Quinn looked at me, surprised.

Surprised? Yeesh. I do nice things all the time. There's no reason for her to look _surprised_.

"Thanks, Logan," she said, gratitude in her voice (which was a nicer response than _surprise_, thank you very much). I was leaning back against a table, so she had to stand on her tiptoes and lean forward a little to kiss me.

I knew she meant it as just a brief thank-you kiss, but I also knew Alex was probably looking, so I wrapped my one free arm around her waist and kissed her in a way that made us both breathless when we finally pulled apart (yeah, Mr. Smith was on one of his infamous coffee breaks). I vaguely heard the girls Quinn had been speaking with giggle in the background, and one of them whisper something about thinking that student-teacher relationships were _illegal_. But I didn't care, because I was lost in the warmth of Quinn's lips and the scent of her hair and her utter _Quinness_.

Quinn laughed lightly after the kiss. "What was that for?" she murmured. I shrugged.

"I dunno. For looking extra amazing today? For giving me a B on that paper? For being you?" I winked. She smiled at me.

And out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alex didn't look too happy. Ha.

The bell rang, then, and Quinn gave me a quick kiss goodbye and went on ahead with her giggly friends while I stayed behind a minute so I could gather up my stuff. When I had it all, I found that I was alone in the classroom with Alex, who'd also loitered behind. (Loitered. Fun word.) I meant just to ignore him and leave (so he could stew in misery and come to the inevitable conclusion that I was awesome and he wasn't), but he spoke before I could.

"Hey, Logan," he said friendlily. "Nice putt on the green last weekend." It took me a couple seconds to figure out he was talking about golf.

"Oh. Thanks…" I said warily. I braced myself for what I knew was coming—conversation about Quinn. And sure enough, it came.

"Your girlfriend's really smart," he said admiringly. "She's great at Physics."

Lovesick puppy that I am, I couldn't help but smile proudly at that. "Thanks," I said, with more warmth in my voice this time. Maybe he was just impressed with her intelligence. Maybe he didn't have any ulterior motives at all, besides just to appreciate the genius that was Quinn Pensky.

"She's hot, too."

That wiped the smile off my face. It stayed off for the rest of the conversation.

* * *

**A/N: Bwahaha, cliffhanger…anywho, read and review! ;)**


	10. The Seed of Doubt

**A/N: Okay, this chapter is a little different than most of them have been so far…but what's life without a little drama? Eh? Eh? (Whoa, suddenly I'm Canadian.)**

**Anywho, just wanted to thank y'all for your reviews (Okay, now I'm Texan.). You people are amazing! Don't forget to review at the end of this chapter, too. Your input is greatly appreciated! ;)**

…**I have nothing more to say. On with the story!**

* * *

It was obvious Alex realized right away that he'd said something stupid. I had the strongest urge to deck him in the face. But I had to remember my Anger Management classes—not because I _wanted_ to stay calm, but because I didn't want to go back. Those people were _insane_.

"Look, I'm sorry," Alex said quickly, backtracking. "I shouldn't have said that. That was dumb. I didn't _mean_ that. She's pretty, is what I meant."

Yeah, right. The urge to deck him grew stronger. But really, what did it matter? It wasn't worth it to punch him and end up going back to the loonyhouse, but if I said another word to him I was likely to lose all my self-restraint. So I rolled my eyes and started walking towards the door.

"It's just—" he said. I had my backpack slung over one shoulder and Quinn's books under my arm as I weaved through the desks to get to the front of the room. I paused when he spoke (God only knows why). He was sitting on one of the tables; I turned around to look at him, my eyes narrowed.

"What?" I said.

"I mean," he continued, right away taking the opportunity I had given him to speak. "She must be pretty special, for you to date her for so long. It's been what, six months?"

"Seven," I corrected coldly. He let out a low whistle. He'd looked a bit worried when he was tripping over his own words making excuses for calling Quinn hot, but all that worry was gone from his face, replaced with…I dunno, a cool confidence (which was not a good look on him, in my opinion).

"That's pretty amazing," he said. "Especially for you."

"What do you mean?" I asked guardedly. He offered a slight grin—I didn't return it.

"Well, you were always a bit of a serial dater, Reese," Alex said. "Remember? Heart of ice?"

"Huh?" I said, momentarily distracted from my anger/annoyance by confusion.

"You know, at that golf tournament in Pasadena…you said…"

"Oh, right." I remembered now. I had been bragging (or whatever you wanted to call it when I would talk about how awesome I was)…and I'd said that I'd never settle down, because I had a heart of ice. I'd said no girl could keep my attention for very long.

That was in sophomore year, before Quinn happened to me. She had pretty much melted my heart of ice.

"Well, times change," I said. I was really hoping we could get this conversation over with soon, so that he could admit he was trying to steal my girlfriend and I could punch him and that would be that.

"Yeah," Alex agreed. "They sure do. I don't think anyone could have guessed that Quinn Pensky and Logan Reese would get together. I guess that's why you kept it a secret for so long, huh? Because of people's potential reactions."

I just gave him a half-shrug. He wouldn't get anything more from me until he turned this conversation more in the direction of something I could injure him for, Anger Management classes or not.

"And you have to admit, it is kind of weird," Alex went on, with a little laugh to show he didn't mean any offense (as if I cared). "Quinn the brilliant genius and Logan the…well, you get the point."

What was _that_ supposed to mean? I knew I was no whiz kid, but yeesh.

"I can see why you like her, though," Alex went on, because I was still diligently refusing to respond until I could find a point in the conversation where it would be appropriate to insert a swear word. "She's…pretty, she's friendly, she's super super smart…"

What was it with this guy constantly bringing up the matter of her intelligence? It was starting to annoy me more than his comment on her alleged hotness.

"What's your point?" I asked impatiently. If he wasn't about to get to the girlfriend-stealing part soon, I'd have to find a way to hurt him later. I didn't have all day to wait around.

"Didn't she get offered a full scholarship to some genius college during _sophomore _year?" Alex asked, still not getting to the point. "I heard she has an IQ of like 177. Do you have any idea how high that is?" He sounded pretty impressed.

I shook my head, then realized that me not knowing how high that was probably didn't increase my chances of having a very high IQ myself. But really, I had no idea where he was going with all this. Why was he going on and on about what a genius Quinn was?

"So?" I said.

"I mean, half the time in class I have no idea what she's saying, and I'm actually okay at Physics," Alex said, and it was sort of nice to hear him insult himself, in a way. In a backhanded, compliment-y way. "I bet it's kind of hard to keep up with her outside of class, too."

I still didn't know what he was getting at, but when he said that, it did sort of make me think (involuntarily, I swear!). I remembered the chemical defribulator (Defrizzilator? Defribrillator? Whatever) thing she had been going on about lately. I'm good at chemistry, but really the only words I'd understood in her sentences had been things like "the" and "and". And I still didn't know who Stephen Hawking was. So yeah, I guess you could say she was pretty hard to keep up with. Especially for me.

"It must take someone pretty smart to keep up with her," Alex commented, and he was kind of right. After all, I'd been forced by her to read the dictionary just so I wouldn't mix up my vocabulary so much. And, sure, that had increased my knowledge of long words…but, probably even more than Alex, half the time I had no idea what Quinn was saying. And like I'd noticed before, she tended to laugh at me a lot.

There was no denying it. Quinn was a genius. But that didn't mean I was _stupid_.

Did it?

"Like Mark Del Figgalo," Alex went on, seemingly oblivious to what was going on inside my head. "Not exactly Einstein material, but he did all right in school. He hung on with Quinn for two years, but I could tell that a lot of the time her brain was going so fast and he was practically standing still. He couldn't keep up forever. And he had a 4.0!"

I wondered if Alex knew about my C and D average. He probably did. Actually, I was beginning to suspect what all this was about. And I didn't like it. I didn't like it one bit.

"So," I said, "You're saying…what? That Quinn is some sort of super genius that nobody in the world can keep up with? Yeah, I knew that."

"Not exactly," Alex said with a laugh. "I mean, you do have to be on your toes, sort of. You know…be smart."

"All right," I said, finally losing it. "Can you just come out with it? Stop with all your little laughs and beating around the bush and just tell me what you're trying to say here? Because I am seriously just considering dislocating your jaw to stop you from talking."

"Hey, now," Alex said, holding up his hands in defense. "No need to be all hostile. I apologized for that stupid comment in the beginning—I'm just trying to have a conversation here."

"Just a conversation?" I said, crossing my arms. "Go on, then. Have your conversation." I was glaring at him, so he had to know what I had just said—about not beating around the bush—still stood.

Alex sighed. "Look," he said. "Let me just sum it up here. Quinn has a 4.0 GPA and could probably get her Ph.D by March if she wanted and start teaching college-level courses by April. You…have a C and D average and read _Captain Underpants_."

"Hey," I said defensively. "What's wrong with _Captain Underpants_?" He is a very entertaining superhero. And a good role-model, I'm sure.

"Well…look down," he insisted. I did. I was holding in my arms all the books Quinn had been carrying…_A Brief History of Time,_ by that guy Stephen Hawking; _Advanced Multivariable Calculus_ (was that a form of math or what?); and some book by Albert Einstein…which appeared to be written in German.

"Oh," I said. There was a bit of variance in our reading levels, I had to admit. Then the rest of what he had said sunk in, and I looked up sharply. "So," I said angrily. "Are you saying I'm too stupid to be dating Quinn, or something?"

"Dude," Alex said, shaking his head. "You're making this about you. I don't mean it like that. I'm not trying to insult you or anything. I'm just thinking about Quinn…when does she seem happiest to you?"

The question caught me off guard (plus, as a side note, I hated the person asking the question), but I answered almost immediately, "When she's working on an experiment or a Quinnvention." I knew right away that was true. She always seemed so excited about it. It was actually one of the things I liked best about her…her passion for the things she loved (and yeah, I liked to include myself on that list).

"Right," he said, nodding. "And do you ever understand what she's doing enough to help her, or anything?"

"Not really," I said truthfully. I couldn't help remembering all the times I used to see Mark helping Quinn out with her Quinnventions. She had always seemed to appreciate his help. But really, what could _I _do to help her? I was barely getting a passing grade in this class.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, man," Alex said, and as soon as he said that I knew I was probably going to anyway. "But don't you think…Quinn would be better off with someone who gets her? Who understands her love and passion for science? That she would frankly be happier with someone else? Someone more on her intelligence level? Someone…well, smarter?" Talk about question after question. And talk about direct. Obviously he wasn't beating around any form of bush at this point.

"No," I said immediately, sure of my answer (not that I had really stopped to think about it). "She's fine."

"You're thinking about yourself, again!" Alex said with frustration. "I'm talking about _Quinn_ here."

Oh, come on. I didn't see the difference.

But then, suddenly, I did find myself thinking about it from Quinn's point of view. The thoughts leapt unbidden into my mind…about all the times she'd sighed or rolled her eyes or laughed at my 'stupidity'. About how happy she was when she was talking science with people who actually understood. About how she'd seemed disappointed when I didn't recall a single detail of anything she had told me about her latest experiments or whatever.

Would she really be happier with someone smarter?

That seemed ridiculous, but was it really? I knew she got frustrated with me sometimes…me and my inability to comprehend…

"For Quinn's sake," Alex said, and his voice sounded like it was coming from very far away, "maybe you should think about it. That's all I'm saying. For Quinn's own good…maybe you should put your own feelings out of the way for a little bit and think about it. I'm just trying to help."

"So you think…" I said slowly. All my anger seemed to have evaporated. I felt kind of dazed. "That I really am too dumb for her? That she'd be better off…without me?"

The words felt all wrong coming out of my mouth. Wrong for me. But were they wrong for her? What was I even saying anymore? Pathetic. I'm confusing _myself_. No fancy Quinn-terminology necessary.

"I think," Alex said, "that if you really loved Quinn, you'd let her go. You'd let her be happier with someone who really gets her."

_That's stupid_, was my automatic reaction. But for some reason I wasn't feeling so sure. Was it so stupid? And wait, what was he implying with the whole 'someone who really gets her' crap?

"And are you offering yourself up for that position?" I said, my anger flaring again. Maybe I _could_ punch him in the face.

Alex shrugged. "Maybe," he said. "I'd like that, anyway. I really like her. If it comes to that, I'd be happy, but I don't want to rush things…and I just want what's best for her. I'm not out to hurt _you _here, either, Reese. If someone comes along smarter than me I'd want him to have her. I think—I hope—you and I _both_ want what's best for her. I could only hope that I'd be what's best."

And there it was: he had admitted pure and simple his evil plan to steal my girlfriend. But my renewed anger had faded as quickly as it had come, because I was too lost in memories I hadn't been planning on reminiscing about—all the times I had felt kind of stupid in comparison to her. I hadn't thought it was such a big deal back then.

But was I really making her unhappy? Dragging her down?

I hated to admit it, hated it so much, but Alex had a point, and I could see his reasoning behind it. Quinn was doing amazingly right now. I could only imagine—though I never had, before this—how much _more_ amazing she could be doing with someone who really deserved her, who really understood her.

Not someone like Alex, because in my mind Alex was still evil, and even though he had a point didn't mean I was grateful for it. Some Russian violinist boy, maybe. Someone who understood everything there was to know about chemical defibrillation and Physics and knew who Stephen Hawking was and read books by Albert Einstein in the original German, not _Captain Underpants_ in dumb old English. Someone who could keep up with her. Someone who'd already _read_ the dictionary, and didn't have to be ordered and threatened and coaxed to do so.

Someone completely not like me.

"Think about it," Alex said simply. He got off the table and walked past me towards the door. I didn't move, staring unseeingly at the spot he had just vacated. I heard him pause at the door.

"I'm sorry, man," he said, and he genuinely did sound sorry (not that I felt the need to forgive him). "I didn't mean to make you unhappy or anything. I'm just trying to get you to think about Quinn's happiness here."

Because Quinn's happiness was what mattered most, right? So what made Quinn happy? I had _thought_ that I did…Did I still think that? Could one conversation really change the way I thought about our whole relationship? And why the heck was I using so many question marks?

Alex had been gone long before I could pull myself together enough to drag myself out of the room. I felt so…confused. Very, very confused.

To be honest, I'd never had much of a problem of doubting myself before. I'd never really contemplated that I might not be good enough for something. It was more like things not being good enough for _me_.

Sure, even I knew I wasn't perfect. I may be rich and good looking, but I'm not the most brilliant person you'll ever come across. But I'd always been okay with that. And, besides those few months at the beginning, I'd always thought that Quinn was okay with it, too.

But maybe she had a _reason_ to be embarrassed of me.

God, this whole thing was just stupid. As I walked back to the lounge, I decided just to forget about it. Which turned out to be easier said than done.

I entered the lounge to see Quinn reading a magazine on the couch. Pushing all thoughts of the recent conversation I'd just had with Alex out of my mind, I walked over and took a seat next to her, depositing her weighty books on the coffee table.

"Hey," I said. "Whatcha reading?"

She glanced up, smiled at me, and looked back down at her magazine. "_Scientific Weekly_," she told me. "It's this article on iron-based superconductors that still work above liquid-helium temperatures. I guess they're thinking that this will make the spin fluctuations that glue together cuprate electrons easier to research…"

"Oh." I tried to understand, I really did, but the truth is I had no freaking clue what she was saying. Super-what nows? And all I could think of was how dumb I was for not knowing.

She really was a genius. And I'm sure there were people out there who would be more than happy to discourse at length with her over spin fluctuations. Meanwhile, the only thing I could discuss at length with any intelligence whatsoever was the latest plot of _Captain Underpants_, and the correct way to make a football pass.

The seed of doubt had been planted. And I was guessing it wouldn't do anything but continue to grow.


	11. Heart of Ice

**A/N: Okay, looks like y'all respond to some drama. ;)**

**Seriously. I was **_**shocked**_** at the response the last chapter got. Nineteen reviews?? Are you serious?? You guys are seriously amazing. You rocketh my world. You are way too good to me. :P**

**Here's hoping this chapter lives up to expectations!**

* * *

I couldn't get that seed of doubt out of my mind.

Every time I saw Quinn, I was reminded of the conversation I had had with Alex. It didn't help that every time I saw her, there was something to remind me of how stupid I was.

Whether she was reading _Scientific Weekly_, or completing her homework in five seconds flat, or reading her gigantic books, or speaking in terms so scientific I wasn't sure if they were actually English, I was constantly reminded. And I was realizing more and more that it actually mattered.

I'd once thought she was geeky. Now I knew that her smartness was something to be admired, respected…that it should set a standard for everyone to live up to. And her own boyfriend shouldn't be so ridiculously behind on that standard.

So I tried to prove how smart I was. I'd use the biggest words I could think of—but that didn't work out so well, as Quinn would always give me a funny look and/or laugh, and tell me I was using or pronouncing it incorrectly. And she just plain rolled her eyes when I messed up flabbergasted again (gabberflasted, flabbergasted, same difference!). It didn't take me long to give up on that plan; I was just making myself look stupider in her presence.

Then I tried to help with Chase's Earth and Space Science homework when the three of us were in the lounge. But that didn't work out so great, either.

"So Europa is a moon of…Saturn?" Chase said, trying to commit the information to memory without his notes, to prepare for his upcoming test.

"I thought Europa was by Asia," I said, thinking he must be confused. Quinn sighed.

"No, that's Europe. Europa is a moon of Jupiter."

"Oh, that's right!" I suddenly remembered my own Earth and Space Science class from last year, and I tried frantically to come up with something that might make me seem educated and smart. "It's covered in mice, right?" I was triumphant, sure that I had finally gotten something right. How's _that_ for smart, Alex?

"Ice," Quinn corrected. "Earth is the only planet with life that we know of, remember? So Europa couldn't have mice on it."

"Oh, right," I said, feeling stupid. Whoops. Well, I'd get the next one.

"And a supernova is…" Chase went on. I was fairly sure that Supernova was a rock band, but that didn't have anything to do with Science, so I kept my mouth shut for that one. "A star that explodes?"

"Basically," Quinn said. "But not just any star can become a supernova. For instance, our sun isn't big enough."

"The sun is a star?" I asked, confused. Quinn sighed again.

"Maybe it would be better if you just didn't help Chase study," she said.

"Oh." I tried to sound like this didn't affect me at all, like it didn't feel like I had just swallowed something particularly poisonous that sat heavily in my stomach. Like I didn't care that Alex's point was being proved over and over again in so many ways. "All right, then. I'll just go…" I was about to say play basketball, but I remembered that I was trying to appear intellectual. "Read a book."

"But I thought _Captain Underpants and the Terrifying Return of Tippy Tinkletrousers_ didn't come out until December," Quinn said teasingly. Chase snorted in amusement, but I couldn't even work up the energy to glare at him. After all, he had every right to think I was stupid. I was.

God. Alex had reduced me to a self-insulting mess.

"No," I said. "I'm going to read…this." Without thinking, I snatched Quinn's Albert Einstein book off the coffee table.

"You know German?" Chase said, rolling his eyes.

"Um…si?" I tried.

"Apparently he also knows Spanish," Quinn said, and they both laughed. I don't think they noticed I wasn't laughing along with them.

"I should go," I muttered, and strode out of the lounge.

I was just thinking I'd walk to the basketball courts, after all, and try to forget my 'issues' there (though that might be difficult, as I was currently holding a book but no ball), when I saw Alex heading my way. My eyes immediately narrowed, and I tensed.

"Hey, man," he said casually, for all the world as though he had not recently driven me absolutely insane with his similarly "casual" conversation. "What's up?"

I grunted in response, stuffing the offending book into my backpack and swinging it over one shoulder. I didn't think I would ever be in a mood to talk to Alex, but especially not now.

"What's wrong?" Alex asked, drawing his eyebrows down as though he were actually confused. "You seem…down."

Well, there's the understatement of the year. And he, the one who had completely driven me insane, as stated above, was asking me why I was "down". It made me want to rearrange his face more than ever. If only Dean Rivers wasn't standing just a couple of yards away…

"I've been thinking," I answered shortly.

"Oh." He adjusted his backpack strap and shifted on his feet, looking at me right in the eyes. It made me more uncomfortable then I really wanted to admit. "About what we discussed the other day?"

I shrugged one shoulder in sullen confirmation. He nodded.

"And…what have you been thinking?"

I didn't answer: just glared at him. And in my glare I think he saw the answer, because he nodded again and clapped me on the shoulder.

"Hey, heart of ice, remember?" he said.

Yeah…heart of ice…

He sighed. "Do you want Quinn to be happy?"

Of course I did. I hadn't thought it possible a year ago, but now I wanted Quinn to be happy more than I wanted _myself_ to be happy.

And I knew where _that_ train of thought invariably led. I nodded in response, not trusting myself to speak…I was either going to punch him, or throw up, or punch him, or…

"Then you know what to do." Alex patted my shoulder, smiled, and walked away. And, like they had been doing ever since he talked to me in the Physics classroom, events and recollections from my past came back, against my will, to plague me:

"_I know he's stupid, but…_"

"_You're an idiot_."

"_He doesn't know anything about anything! No offense, but he's an idiot!_"

Quinn, Chase, Zoey. Not just Alex, but my friends; _everyone_ saw it, _everyone_ knew. I remembered Zoey and Lola, just after the junior prom, trying to convince Quinn I was too much of a stupid jerk for her to date. I remembered when Lola would turn to Quinn and ask, "Why are you dating him again?" I remembered hearing whispers about how it really was a shame, such brains wasted on such stupidity.

I hated doubting myself. But I just couldn't stop. Standing there, I got more and more immersed in the memories…the countless evidence…everything that I was trying to deny.

But it was all there. It was all true. And I couldn't escape it.

* * *

I went back to my dorm room after that, and lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the green paint. I had already thought more than enough, and I just needed some time to think about nothing at all. I don't know how long I'd been lying there when I heard a knock on the door.

"It's open," I called tonelessly. Fifteen cracks, sixteen, seventeen…did that little one count?

"Logan?" I turned my head when I heard who had just entered: Quinn, carrying her backpack and closing the door behind her.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. It seemed to take so much effort just to sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, so I was sitting instead of lying down.

"We had a study date, remember?" Quinn said, smiling playfully. She sat next to me and deposited her backpack on the floor. "Or were you planning on standing me up on that?"

"No, of course not," I said. I was looking at the floor—looking at her hurt too much, somehow. I saw her smile out of the corner of my eye, and she leaned forward and gave me a swift kiss on the cheek.

"Now," she said, oblivious to my listlessness. "I know you don't want to, but we actually do have to study here, Logan. Just a little bit, to get you caught up, and make sure you know everything—then we can do other stuff, 'kay?"

I sighed and lay back on the bed. Where was I? Eighteen cracks, nineteen…

I saw Quinn quirk a curious eyebrow at me, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she dug a textbook out of her backpack and opened it on her lap, flipping to the right page. She brought her legs up so she sat cross-legged on the end of my bed, facing me as I counted the cracks in the ceiling paint.

"Okay." She cleared her throat. "What are the four basic branches of Physics?"

"I dunno," I said dully. Well, I didn't. So why even bother to try anymore?

"Okay…" she said slowly. "Do you even know one of them, maybe?"

"Nope," I said, emphasizing the p. Yep, that's just how dumb I was. Didn't even know one. Why waste your time with me, Quinn? You could do so much better. Just ask Alex.

"Well," she said, uncertainly, confused at my odd responses. "There's Classical Mechanics, Relativistic Mechanics, Quantum Mechanics, and Quantum Field Theory. Do you remember them now?"

"No," I said truthfully.

"_Try_ to remember them, then. Okay, I'll ask again: what are the four branches of Physics?"

"No idea," I said. Sure, she'd said them just seconds earlier, but with my stupidity, I doubt I'd get them right if I tried to repeat them.

"Logan." She closed her textbook—forcefully—and put her hand on my knee (I had my knees bent and my hands behind my head as I stared up at the ceiling). A thousand volts of electricity shot up my leg just from the touch, but I ignored it. I had to.

"What's wrong?" she asked me, trying in vain to catch my eye, to get me to look down from the ceiling.

"Nothing," I answered shortly. "Are we studying or what?"

She took her hand off my leg, and I could _sense_ the hurt look on her face. A pang of guilt went through me. But if I apologized, I'd have to look her in the eye. And I couldn't handle that.

"Okay," she said, a little unsteadily. I heard her open the textbook again, and slowly riffle through the pages until she found the right chapter again. "Um…what is Newton's first law of motion?"

I shrugged, which was sort of hard to do while lying down, but somehow I managed.

"Do…do you know the second one? Any of them? Logan, have you been paying attention in class at all?"

"I guess," I said noncommittally. I could hear the frustration in her voice—frustration at my stupidity.

"Well, _why_ do I get the feeling you don't want me here, or something? Logan, please talk to me." She was upset, I could tell. She hadn't even been in here five minutes and already I'd managed to upset her.

And I knew what I had to do.

I sat up and swung my legs off the side of the bed again. She continued sitting cross-legged, just looking at me. I looked at the floor—the oh-so-interesting carpet—my hands clasped between my legs.

I didn't want to. I hated to do it more than anything else in the world. But I knew I had to.

Quinn deserved better. She deserved happiness. Now was the time for me not to be selfish. Now was the time to prove to the world how much I loved her…by giving her up. Alex had said it: _If you really loved her, you'd let her go._ He was right. And I loved Quinn. So the time had come to let her go.

"Quinn…" I began. She didn't answer, just stayed silent, to let me talk. I still couldn't meet her eyes. I took a deep breath. I held it for a while—let it out slowly. _Get on with it_, I told myself.

"What is it?" she finally asked, after long moments when I still hadn't said anything.

"I…" I swallowed the big lump that had mysteriously formed in my throat. I reminded myself one more time why I was doing this, despite the queasy feeling in my stomach that made me feel like I would throw up if I so much as started to say what I knew I had to. I closed my eyes. "I think maybe we should take a break."

The words hung in the air between us, echoing loudly in the silence. I kept my eyes steadfastly on the floor so I wouldn't see her reaction. I heard her breathing hitch, and I felt suddenly sick to my stomach.

"You…you what?" Quinn said. Choked, really. There were no cracks to count in the carpet…nothing to distract me from what I had just done. From what I was continuing to do. Not trusting myself to speak, I just nodded.

"A…break from each other? Logan?" I heard her shock, her worry, her unhappiness. I heard and I did nothing.

I didn't want to be like Mark. I didn't want to lead her on, saying this was only a break, that it wasn't permanent. If I was doing this, I had to do it the whole way.

"I mean, I think we should break up. For good." The words came out sounding harsh and cruel to my ears. It was like I wasn't even the one saying the words anymore. Some ruthless being who loved to cause me pain was controlling what I said.

"But…why? I—are you serious?"

How I wished I wasn't. I wanted this just to be a bad dream. But I was here, and I was awake, and my world was ending.

"Logan?" I could hear the quick tears in her voice. "Logan, talk to me. What brought this on? What's wrong?"

I merely shrugged. Her breathing got more uneven.

"Logan, won't you please just look at me? _Please_?" I didn't respond. Our carpet was such an interesting shade of tan…

"Logan!" I still didn't answer. The only sound was Quinn's uneven breathing. Moments of pregnant pause, tension-filled silence, as she waited for me to say something, then:

"You can't just…just _end _this, without an explanation! I want to know what's wrong!" She wasn't just upset now, she was angry. I could take her anger. Let her punch me, kick me, slap me—I would take it. Because I deserved it. I wished she would.

Didn't she realize it was for her own good? That I was doing this for her?

She stood up suddenly, her voice trembling with rage and tears. She stuffed her textbook into her backpack and swung it over her shoulder. "Fine, then," she said coldly…shakily. "If you don't want to talk, don't. I'll just leave."

I didn't try to stop her. And just like that, she was gone.

Out the door. Gone. There wasn't even a satisfying door slam—just the click of the locks sliding into place. Just a click and Quinn was out of my life.

I lay back on my bed and stared blankly at the curiously blurry ceiling. The problem with having a heart of ice was how easily it could shatter into a million little pieces.

* * *

**...You guys are so good to me, and I'm so mean to you.**

**But…review! If you have the heart!**


	12. New Philosophy

**A/N: Okay, a couple of things, before you read on.**

**1. Thirty reviews for the last chapter. I think I'm in heaven. ;) Actually, it seems I get more of a response when I make my characters miserable, I should keep that in mind...okay, only joking! But still. Thanks, people, you're all amazing. Don't forget to review this chapter, too!**

**2. This chapter is very, very long. It wasn't even supposed to be; I don't know what happened. And it actually turned out a lot different than I expected. I'm not one hundred percent sure how I feel about it, but I figured it was as good as it's ever gonna get and you guys have been waiting long enough anyway.**

**3. Surely you've noticed me plugging my little Quogan LiveJournal blog practically every other chapter, and I've got some good news; I get to write a really long, essay-like thing on Quogan for this LiveJournal community where people from all fandoms post essays on their ships. So yeah. It should be fun. If you want to help in any way--ideas, screencaps, reccomendations, beta'ing, what have you--just go ahead and let me know. ;)**

**4. Do you wanna read the chapter or just keep reading this stupid ordered list thing? I thought so.**

* * *

Life sucks and we're all going to die.

That, I decided, was my new philosophy. Now, I'm not into analyzing my emotions or whatever—that's _girl_ stuff—but it was pretty obvious to me that I was far, far away from sunshine and daisies.

Not that sunshine and daisies are the epitome of happiness, or anything. But…you get the point.

The truth was, I really had no idea what I was going to do with my life anymore. Like, thoughts about living beyond this day, this hour, this freaking _minute_, were just plain scary. Because the thought of going on without Quinn was not something that had occurred to me once since about two weeks after we had started dating. And when I thought ahead to the future, thought about how I'd have to see her every day with our friends, teaching my Physics class, realizing what a favor I'd done her by ending our relationship and starting to go out with other guys…I seriously didn't know how I was even supposed to survive that.

Maybe my dad would let me move to Finland.

Or maybe I could hit myself over the head with a sledgehammer to give myself amnesia so I wouldn't have to remember any of this. And maybe I could get surgery to repair my apparently crushed heart.

Maybe.

Meanwhile, before I could move to frozen Scandinavia or find a nearby sledgehammer or a surgeon who knew how to fix a broken, icy heart, I decided I just couldn't stand to be in my room any longer. I had counted every single crack in the stupid ceiling anyway. So I hauled myself off my bed and outside, into the fresh air, trying to push all thoughts about the future and Quinn and what had just happened out of my mind, because if I started to think about that, even a little, I was immediately back to the whole life sucks and we're all going to die thing. But I guess my brain really hates my heart, or something, because it just wouldn't shut up about all the thoughts and memories I was trying to avoid.

I really needed to find a sledgehammer.

I was just wandering aimlessly around campus for a while…or so I thought. Imagine my surprise when I ended up outside of the window of room 101 of Fulton Hall. Crap. This really wasn't helping the whole healing process thing.

I turned to walk away, but something stopped me. I don't know if it was curiosity, or a sudden desire to make myself feel as bad as humanly possible, or a what-the-hell-life-sure-can't-get-any-worse whim, but I soon found myself sitting on the slightly damp ground beneath the slightly open window of 101.

You wouldn't be able to see me unless you leaned outside the window and looked directly down, and I was hidden for the most part from passerby by a couple of very prickly bushes. I leaned my head back against the stucco wall of the building and closed my eyes. I was trying to convince myself that there was nothing eavesdropper-like or stalker-ish about this kind of behavior, but it wasn't working so well.

But you know what? Life sucks and we're all going to die.

So who even cares?

If I listened—not that I was _trying_ to listen, of course—I could hear a muffled sobbing coming from the girls' dorm room. Part of me hoped that it wasn't what I knew it must be, that Lola had just stubbed her toe and it wasn't _Quinn_ crying because of _me_, and it was completely unrelated to _those_ events that had just taken place and there was no reason for me to even have to think about _that_—but the other part of me, a sick, twisted part of me, was glad she was crying. Because it meant she missed me. That I meant something to her.

Of course, soon she'd realize how much better off she was without me and she'd dry her tears and go off with some Russian violinist boy. And she'd come back and thank me someday for understanding what she hadn't seen, that she was way out of my league and she was so grateful I'd shown her the light by breaking up with her. Technically, that should have comforted me. Obviously, it didn't.

Being selfless really sucks sometimes.

Then again, so does life.

"Quinn." The sobbing hadn't stopped—hadn't decreased in volume or speed or intensity or anything—and I recognized Lola's voice. Which didn't normally sound as frantic as it did now. "Quinn, _please_. What's wrong?"

I remembered similar words being said to me not that long before…then I blocked that memory out. The good thing about eavesdropping was that it really did distract you from any life-sucks-and-we're-all-going-to-die thoughts you might be having.

Tired of hearing that philosophy? Well, I was tired of thinking it. But I didn't have much of a choice.

"She's been like this for the last fifteen minutes!" That was Zoey. She sounded pretty worried, too. I assumed by _she_ they meant Quinn and by _this_ they meant the whole sobbing thing.

It's a good thing my heart was already crushed. If it wasn't, I don't think it could have survived the things I was hearing.

"What is it?" I heard Lola ask through the open window. "Are you sick? Hurt? Tired? Is it school…a Quinnvention…a person…give me something to work with here!" Her voice was bordering on hysterical as she tried to figure out what was causing Quinn to weep for fifteen minutes on end.

"Shh…it's okay," Zoey said soothingly. To Quinn, I think, not Lola. "Lola, I'm going to get another box of tissues from the closet—just keep rubbing her back, okay? Hopefully soon she'll be able to talk…"

"Right," Lola replied. The sobbing sounded like it was dying down a bit; the flow of tears decreasing. Lola and Zoey continued to murmur comforting words until the crying slowly turned into sniffling.

"Quinn?" Zoey said gently. "Quinn, are you okay?"

"Obviously not," Lola snapped. Then she sighed. "I'm sorry. Quinn…how are you feeling?"

"I—I'm fine."

Those two words hurt so bad.

For one thing, they were quiet and practically inaudible and you could _tell_ there were tears behind them. For another, I was perfectly aware that she wasn't fine, but the very notion that she _could_ be fine so soon after I (to put it bluntly) dumped her, pained me more than I cared to admit. And for another, this was the first time I had heard her speak since she had walked out of my life some fifteen minutes previously…since I had _kicked_ her out, without an explanation.

But was I really supposed to explain that I was too stupid for her and was letting her go so she could be happier? My pride was already hurt enough, thank you.

"No, you're _not_ fine." Lola's words drifted from the window to my ears, distracting me once again from my misery. "Please tell us what's wrong. We want to help."

Quinn laughed a not-amused laugh. I could hear Zoey and Lola passing her tissues, and assumed Quinn was using them to dry her face and blow her nose, thus the brief silence unbroken by Lola's impatient demands to know what was going on _now_.

"It's nothing you can help with," Quinn assured them brokenly. "Really, I'm fine…or, I'll _be_ fine, anyway."

That was exactly it. She may be sad now, but she'd _be_ fine, once she found out how happy she could be without me. And, since I wanted her to be happy, this knowledge that she'd _be_ fine should have made _me_ happy, but a guy can only be selfless for so long. I had had my moment of true selflessness and now it was time for me to wallow in my own life-sucks feelings.

"Quinn…tell us what happened."

Quinn sighed. I braced myself.

"Logan broke up with me," she admitted, seeming on the verge of tears again.

I had braced myself, but I wasn't prepared for my heart shattering _all over again_ as it encountered the ugliest truth it had ever heard.

Well, okay, hearts don't have ears, so I guess that metaphor doesn't really make sense. (Or is it a simile? I never can remember…) But the basic idea was still the same. Heart--shattered. Life--sucks. Zoey and Lola--gasps of shock and two "_What?!_"s in unison.

I can only assume Quinn nodded, because there was a moment or two of stunned silence before Lola broke it by saying, "Tell us what happened. All of it."

"I…" Quinn started in a wobbly voice. I heard more tissues being pulled out of the box in rapid succession. "I went over to his dorm room because we had a study date, and…" She broke off and blew her nose.

"Shh, shh, it's okay," Zoey said softly. "Don't cry."

Quinn chuckled a watery little chuckle and said quietly, "Don't worry, I can only produce about half a teaspoon more of tears before I start to become dehydrated."

See? This is why I had to break up with her. Because she's so smart. I wasn't even one hundred percent sure what dehydrated _meant_.

"So you went to his dorm room…" Lola prompted.

"And…I don't know. He was acting strangely. Sort of unresponsive, like he just didn't care. And he wouldn't meet my eyes."

It was almost interesting, having my behavior analyzed this way; what it had been like from _her_ point of view as I made what was probably the worst decision of my life and the best decision for hers.

"Did you ask him what was wrong?" Zoey asked.

"Of course I did. But he wouldn't tell me. He didn't say much at all, really." I think a little bit of that half teaspoon of tears she had left were probably leaking out.

"So then what happened?" Lola asked. Zoey and Lola's concern must have been encouraging to Quinn, because she took a deep breath and went on.

"I asked him again, and he…he just said he thought that maybe we should take a break. Just like Mark said."

Suddenly, she was flat-out sobbing, and from what I heard I could just imagine the scene inside: Quinn curled up on her bed, Lola holding her and rocking back and forth, Zoey holding the box of tissues and rubbing her back. The idea that _I_ had caused this whole thing made me feel, if possible, even worse.

Lola and Zoey continued to do that comforting good-friend thing it seems girls were just born with the ability to do, and eventually Quinn must have released a full half teaspoon because she was back to sniffling quietly.

"Is that all?" Lola asked, more gently than I had ever heard her say anything.

"Well…then he said the same thing, but worse, somehow…he made it sound more…final. And he was so _monotone_, and _emotionless_, and he still wouldn't meet my eyes. And I tried to get him to talk about it, but he wouldn't, he wouldn't say anything, he just sat there looking all…I don't even know. So I left." Quinn sounded exhausted and teary, and I knew that if she had been able to cry any more without getting de-whatchamahcallit, she would be. Crying, I mean.

"And…that's it?" Zoey said incredulously. "He didn't even offer an explanation? He just told you that you were over and that was it? No flimsy excuse or _anything_?"

"Nope," Quinn said shakily. "Nothing."

"Well…has he been acting strangely lately?" Lola asked, sounding completely confused as to my motives.

"I guess…" Quinn said. I heard the slightest shift in their positions as she shrugged. "For the last few days he _has_ been a little odd. I should have seen it coming…" She broke off.

"Quinn, this _isn't your fault_," Lola said firmly.

"He's not worth it," Zoey put in, and she was so right.

"No…but…" Quinn trailed off. "I don't know," she said quietly.

"So that's it, then?" Lola asked. "That's the whole story?" I think Quinn nodded, because I didn't hear a response.

"Okay, well." I heard the creak of bedsprings as Zoey and Lola stood up. "We'll be right back. Do you want us to bring you some tea?"

"Where—where are you going?" Quinn asked brokenly.

A flare of anger rose up inside of me, even though technically it had no right to be there. What were they thinking, leaving Quinn at a time like this, with a mere promise to bring back _tea_? Couldn't they see she was in a right state? ('Right state'…that's a Britishism Chase picked up in England, by the way. Kind of fun to say.) The fact that it was because of me she was in this state was pretty much beside the point.

"To kill Logan," Lola said simply.

Oh. Crap.

I should have known. I should have known there's no way they could hear about the 'awful thing' I had just done to Quinn—though it was really for her own benefit—and take the news so calmly. I should have known they wouldn't just let it go.

"What?" Quinn gasped.

"Quinn, come on," Zoey said. "We warned him when we found out you two were dating not to hurt you. And now he has."

"No, guys—" Quinn said.

"We all really thought he'd changed," Lola went on. "But apparently not. Apparently he's still a jerk. And now he's done just what I was afraid of back when we found out about you two—he hurt one of my best friends. I'm not just going to let him get away with that."

"Me neither," Zoey agreed. "Of all the things Logan's ever done, this is by far the worst."

You know, they weren't shouting or anything, but I swear this was the angriest I'd ever seen—well, heard—them. I didn't doubt that they wouldn't injure me quite badly if they ever found me, and _especially_ if they found out I was eavesdropping on them.

And they'd never believe I broke up with Quinn because I loved her.

"No, please don't," Quinn begged. "Just…don't."

"Why not?" Lola demanded. "He deserves it."

"I just…I can't handle that right now." Apparently Quinn was wrong about the half-teaspoon thing, because she began to cry all over again.

And like the good friends they were, Zoey and Lola sat back down and started to comfort her.

And like the bad person I was, I snuck away from the window.

* * *

The next few days were absolute misery.

I spent most of it curled up on my bed, staring at the wall (the ceiling had grown old). When Chase and Michael first found out about what I had done, they had come in all angry and yelling, asking me _why_ I had done that, didn't I realize Quinn was the best thing that ever happened to me, _how_ could I have hurt her so badly and didn't I understand that Quinn was _their_ friend too and they couldn't believe what a stupid jerk I was?

I learned to tune it all out after a while. And after they realized they weren't getting through to me, weren't getting any response at all, they stopped yelling. I think after a day or two of me doing nothing but lying in bed staring at the wall, they even started to get worried. I could feel the looks they exchanged behind my back. The what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-him? looks.

Once Michael had a glorified moment of pity and asked me just what was wrong. He said that if this was about Quinn, if I really missed her so much, why had I broken up with her? Just talk to her, he advised me.

I think I may have muttered a swear word at him. They didn't disturb me after that.

I wanted to skip classes Monday, but somehow I knew I wouldn't get away with it, so I rolled out of bed before either Chase or Michael were up and did a semi-decent job of basic personal hygiene before arriving early to Math, which I swear had never happened before. I nearly gave my teacher a coronary when I walked in.

I went through my classes like a zombie. It was an early-release schedule day, so we had fifth period before lunch, which meant—you guessed it—Physics.

Quinn was more subdued in front of the class that day. She basically pretended I wasn't in the room, and so did I…I pretended I was anywhere but there. And Alex Craine? He must have seen what had happened between us. And though he tried not to show it, it was obvious he was pretty smug.

He started chatting up Quinn right before the bell rang, and I really couldn't get out of there fast enough. Quinn was obviously still upset, but she still talked to Alex politely and that alone made me want to kill someone. Preferably Alex.

But Quinn wasn't my girlfriend anymore, and I had no right to defend her or feel jealous or get in the way of her happiness. That's why I had broken up with her, after all. So smart people like Alex would have a shot at her. The whole point was to get her to move on.

But that didn't mean I had to be _happy_ about it.

Anyway, when the bell rang signaling the beginning of lunch, I was out of there like a shot. I went straight to the table where we all usually eat lunch, then realized belatedly that maybe I wouldn't be so welcome there.

But, as it turns out, all my friends seemed to have decided it was easiest just to ignore me. I could see their thought process, really—not wanting to waste their time or create a scene by telling me to insert-swear-word-here off. Wondering if they should even still be my friend. Just overall not sure what to do with me. I was an unwanted nuisance.

I didn't give them much trouble, though, just sat quietly eating my lunch as they loudly and pointedly excluded me from a conversation I had no interest in joining anyway. Quinn came along soon, and the level of ignoration increased. I couldn't even look at Quinn to see if she had improved, if she was any happier than she had been a few days previously, when she had cried out all the tears in her body. Instead, I kept my eyes steadfastly fixed on my French fries.

_Life sucks and we're all going to die_.

Shut up, brain.

It hurt so much just to be near her. But I don't think I really knew what pain was until Alex came riding up to our lunch table on his Jet-X.

I knew right away why he was there.

So this was his final revenge. Having already accomplished the part where I shatter my very own heart, he was going to come along and stomp on the pieces until they were nothing more than dust. Or in my case, snow, I guess. Crushed ice? Whatever.

"Hey, Quinn," Alex said with his perfectly even, white-teethed smile. "Hey, guys."

Those at the table who knew Alex mumbled hellos around their food, while those who didn't just sort of looked at him.

"Oh, hi, Alex." I couldn't even tell from her tone what she was feeling—she didn't sound particularly enthusiastic or happy, but then, she didn't exactly sound depressed, either. More like carefully neutral.

Quinn was never carefully neutral. I wondered if she was hurting as much as I was…and I wondered how long it would take her to get over it. Personally, I didn't think _I_ ever would.

"I just wanted to say…thanks for a great lesson today. That was awesome." Like hell that was just what you wanted to say.

It was almost a good thing Quinn and I weren't going out anymore in one respect, and anyway I'd never let her test her mind-reading machine on me anyway, because she would have been so furious to know all the swearing going on in my head lately.

"No problem," Quinn said, still in an even, calm voice. She gave him a generic smile. I wanted to punch his lights out.

"Also," he said, and here it came, insert-swear-word-here here it came, "I was wondering…see, Stephen Hawking is giving a talk at Pepperdine University tomorrow, and my uncle is a Dean there, and he said he could get me in, and I was wondering if maybe, you wanted to go. With me."

Nice. A smart-people date. What a perfect way to rub in my face what my life had come to now.

"I…" I don't think Quinn had been expecting it like I was. She looked caught off her guard. And for the first time during that lunch period, I was no longer invisible, and she looked at me…for the first time since, well, the day I wouldn't look at her.

Our eyes met only for a second, but it was enough to absolutely electrify me. There was such a lot of hurt in her eyes, and blame, and pleading-ness, and vulnerability, and a thousand other emotions I couldn't even begin to name. And then she looked back at Alex and I dropped my suddenly wet eyes back to my French fries. Michael's stupid allergies must be contagious…

"I…I really don't think…" Quinn started. Then Zoey kicked her under the table and gave her a look.

A this-guy-is-cute-and-smart-and-why-don't-you-show-Logan-just-what-he's-missing kind of look.

As though I didn't already know.

Quinn looked at Zoey for a minute with panic on her face, and Zoey looked back sternly, and then Quinn plastered a smile back on and looked at Alex again, who looked positively bewildered by this whole silent exchange.

And he called himself smart.

"I would love to go with you," she said, all…I dunno, flirtily, and Alex grinned. "But," she said, "why don't we just go for dinner at Sushi Rox instead?"

Well, that was surprising. Quinn turning down this smart-people date for dinner at plain old Sushi Rox.

Alex, also surprised, hastily accepted this change of plans, but I was barely listening.

The thing was, I was supposed to let her move on; thus the point of this whole breaking-up thing. I was supposed to let her be with someone smarter who could make her happy.

And I knew that. But…

But once an eavesdropper, always an eavesdropper, right? And life sucks and we're all going to die anyway.

So I might as well die while spying on her date.


	13. The Date

**A/N: Okey dokey, artichokies, lets get down to business.**

**Firstly, apologies major for making you wait over two weeks. I'm sorry! I had finals, and school ending, and writer's block, and all this other stuff and to top it off tomorrow I start Driver's Ed and I'm going to drive into a tree, I just know it. Anywho, I sincerely hope this chapter's worth the wait (somehow I doubt it).**

**Secondly, this chapter is pretty much double the length of normal chapters. I have no idea how it got that way; honest. Don't expect the following chapters to be so long, but whatever, enjoy it! ;)**

**Thirdly, thanks so much to all those who volunteered to help with my Quogan manifesto. I'll let you know what you can do as soon as I have things more organized!**

**Fourthly (I know, it's going on and on, isn't it? I just can't shut up!), thanks again times ten thousand for your guys's awesome reviews. Reviews seriously make me so happy. Ooh, and thanks also to those of you who are reading anyway, even if you're not reviewing, or if you're letting me know you like my story some other way (like PMs and on the tv . com forums). Do feel free to review! I've actually changed my settings, so now I accept anonymous reviews, which means that those of you who don't have accounts for whatever reason (like, you're under 13, although I have seen plenty of under-13 people get accounts anyway, since FF.N can't exactly verify your age) can review too! Yay! :P**

**Okay, I'm done now.**

* * *

I looked down at my report card and grinned. Straight A's as usual. My teachers had written all sorts of things in the comments section—ranging from "Model student" to "A pleasure to have in class" to "Exemplary work." It looked like I would be graduating with a 4.0—no surprise there—and a full scholarship to the college of my choice. Life was good.

The report card was taken from my hands and I looked up to see Quinn holding it and smiling as she scanned it. She handed it back to me, still smiling that beautiful smile of hers, and I couldn't help but grin back.

"You're so cute when you're smart," she told me. "Which luckily for me is all the time." She slid her arms around my neck and leaned in to kiss me. Happy to oblige, I wrapped my arms around her and deepened the kiss…

Then I woke up.

I lay in bed staring once more at the ceiling, breathing heavily as the last silvery strands of the dream slipped out of my mind and memory, leaving behind only vague feelings of disappointment and a crushed heart. But I was almost used to the pain which accompanied those feelings by now. I'd been living with them for days, days that felt like years, like centuries.

It was the day of the date, I realized, and my heart shattered a little bit more. I didn't understand how it could do this, but every time I was sure it was broken into absolutely microscopic pieces it managed to surprise me by breaking even more. Every time I thought about Quinn, or the breakup, or her alleged date, I felt nearly literal physical pain.

The worst pain I'd ever felt about a breakup prior to this was when Bonnie Shafer pushed me into a rosebush in eighth grade. But sharp thorns had nothing on this.

It was a Tuesday, which meant I was expected to go to school. I had forgotten to set my alarm clock earlier than my roommates', so I could feel their eyes on me as they got ready for classes. They were still wondering what was wrong with me, if this had anything to do with Quinn, and why I had broken up with her in the first place. I really didn't feel up to giving them any answers, so I continued my complete silence. I got out of bed and dressed robotically, not looking Chase or Michael in the eye, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

Trying to appear inconspicuous wasn't something I had much experience doing. It was harder than you would think, especially when you could feel the weighty silence and concerned stares hanging heavily in the air.

Stupid heavy air.

I walked to Math and thought about Quinn's date. Which was really just inviting the knife into my heart. But I had to consider this.

Thanks to the fact that no one had officially kicked me out of the lunch table, I was privy to all the details: the fact that they were meeting at Sushi Rox at seven, that Alex was "really looking forward to it", and that Quinn was going to wear her "new, forest green dress!" at the suggestion of Lola.

Why did I want to spy on her date? I really had no clue. It wouldn't help anything. It wouldn't fix my broken heart. I still wanted her to be happy, that selfless part of me was still there, so _that_ part wanted her to have a good time, to be happy with Alex (or to be happy with Russian violinist boy, instead), just to be happy in general. _That_ part of me would prevent the rest of me from ruining her date in any possible way I could. That part would regulate me to just watching, not interfering.

But the more dominant part of me was still hurting bad, _didn't_ want her to go on this date, _hated_ Alex, wished she would have a horrible time and that one of her experiments would go to her brain and make her believe that I was the best thing that could happen to her. That I was smart. _That_ part of me wanted not to go to see her be happy, but to go see her slap Alex across the face and tell him she'd never love anyone but me.

That second option was impossible.

Really, me going to spy on her date could only lead to ruin. I could get caught. My heart could—and would—break further, especially since I knew there was no way she could _not_ have a good time with smarty-pants Alex. This would definitely not help me with the healing process.

But I couldn't help it. I didn't feel I was a single step closer to being healed and I wasn't sure if I ever would be. Spying on her date would do nobody any good, sure, but it would give me something to do, a way to pine for her _away_ from my bed…and frankly I was so depressed I just didn't care anymore if it all went to crap.

'Cause life sucks and we're all going to die. Remember that, folks. When you realize how true that is, remember that Logan Reese knew all along.

So I knew I was being downright stupid, and in more ways than one. I knew I had no right to be spying on her date. I knew that if I got caught my poor dad would be without an heir to the Reese family name. But I had to watch what happened.

I had to confirm that she really would be happier with another guy, like Alex had said. I needed this one final confirmation—especially after witnessing her reaction to our initial breakup—that this really was for the best, for Quinn's best. This one confirmation, and I swore to myself I'd leave her alone.

Sure, I'd never get over her. But that was my problem, not hers.

So, at about seven-fifteen that night I prepared to go out. No, in case you're wondering, I did _not_ change into all-out spy gear. I did wear a black shirt, but that's beside the point.

"Where are you going?"

I spun around, my hand still on the doorknob. I had been trying to leave unnoticed, but I should have known it was a foolish hope. After spending a weekend sulking silently on your bed, your roommates are bound to ask questions when you finally get up to go out on a Tuesday night.

"Out," I said evasively, easing the door open. "Don't wait up."

"Out where?" Michael asked. He and Chase looked equal parts concerned and suspicious.

"Grab some dinner," I said. "See ya." I got a foot out the door.

"Wait." I sighed.

"What?"

"Just…" They were definitely more concerned than suspicious now, which made me feel guilty. Well, sort of. "Are you sure you're all right, man? You haven't been…I mean, you…"

Before they could start talking about _feelings_ or _emotions_, I gave them a quick grin as best I could. "I am fantastically glorious," I assured them, then hightailed it out of there.

Okay, fine, _fantastically glorious_ might have been pushing it a bit, but it's not like I was about to tell them about my new philosophy. They'd probably drag me to therapy or something.

Anyway, I headed across campus to Sushi Rox at a brisk pace, keeping my head down. I barely acknowledged the people who called or nodded greetings to me. I wondered how long this would last, this depression…my whole life? I couldn't see it ending in the foreseeable future, anyway. I was actually beginning to seriously consider the amnesia-by-way-of-sledgehammer idea.

It was weird, as I walked across campus, to fully process what was happening. A week ago, I was sure Quinn and I were the happiest couple on earth, and I was the luckiest guy in the world. Then I found out how _un_luckyQuinn was, to have me and not someone who really deserved her, and now? Now I was pathetically depressed and on my way to spy on her date with another guy. A guy who just happened to be Shirtless Dave's little brother. Oh, the irony.

I quickly assessed the situation when I entered Sushi Rox, glancing around at the moderately-full dining area. I was pretty sure Alex and Quinn would be seated at this table sort of in the middle of the room, set for two and the most popular table in the restaurant for couples on romantic dates. Quinn and I had been there a time or two. Ignoring the now-familiar pain in my chest, I tore my eyes away from that table and saw another one: a table set for one, squished into a corner of the restaurant like an afterthought, mainly concealed by a large potted plant. I quickly took a seat there and found it was more perfect than I could have hoped for: close enough to offer a good view and good hearing-distance from Quinn and Alex, but not so close that they would notice me…as long as I kept the menu in front of my face the entire time.

I was smugly picking up said menu when it hit me full force what I was doing.

I had broken up with Quinn, the most amazing girl I had ever met, because some dork in a collared shirt had convinced me she would be happier if she was dating someone smarter. I had moped around about it for days and then, when she got a date with the smart, collared-shirt-wearing guy, had decided I would like nothing more than to spy on and eavesdrop on their date even though it would serve no purpose whatsoever. That was what my life had come to.

God. I was such an idiot.

I rested my forehead on the plastic table and thought about how absolutely miserable I was. Being selfish was so much more fun. This? This sucked.

I didn't have too much time to dwell on the suckage, though, before I jerked my head up at the sound of two familiar voices.

There was Quinn, dressed in that forest-green dress Lola had mentioned and silver high heels, her curly hair half-up and half-down and looking absolutely beautiful. And also slightly uncomfortable, maybe because of the fact that Alex had his hand on the small of her back as the waiter led them to The Table. Alex was looking just as smug as I'd felt a few moments earlier. Mostly, though, he looked almost devastatingly punchable. It would be so easy just to stand up and deck him one right in the face…

The selfless part of me pushed that thought out of my brain and I hunched down behind the menu, my eyes barely peeking over it to watch the waiter—not, I noticed, Alex—hold out a chair for Quinn and then hand them menus.

"You look great," Alex said, his voice carrying easily to where I sat. Oh, how original. Bravo! I bet no one's ever said _that _before! You have just confirmed your supreme intelligence to me, Quinn, and the whole freaking world!

Um…sorry. Sometimes I go a bit overboard with the sarcasm.

Anyway, I quickly checked to see if Quinn was blushing. Thankfully, there was no apparent blushage—or wait, _was_ that thankfully? If she was blushing, that meant she liked him. But I didn't want her to like him. Or no, I _did_, because I wanted her to be happy. But happy with Alex? Did I want her to like the guy or not? And where did a Russian violinist come into all of this?

Ouch. My head hurt.

"Mr. Reese." I nearly jumped out of my skin at this, my eyes jerking away from what they had been so intently focused on—Quinn and Alex—to see Kazu standing next to my table, giving me a puzzled look.

"Mr. Reese, are you ready to order?" he asked. I made hurried shushing motions.

"Don't say my name out loud," I hissed.

"Er…" He was looking at me like I was crazy. Which didn't seem entirely fair—all I had done was come into Sushi Rox and sat behind a fake plant and not wanted my name said aloud…oh, and also hid behind a menu. Plus, Kazu probably didn't know that Quinn and I broke up, so the fact that I was doing this while watching Quinn apparently on a date with another guy might have seemed weird, too.

Fine, I guess I could understand his confusion.

"Are you ready to order?" he asked again. I glanced frantically at Quinn and Alex, afraid they had noticed me, or heard my name, or their attention had been drawn to the fact that out of the corners of their eyes it appeared Kazu was talking to a potted plant.

"Just water, thanks," I whispered.

"Are you sure?"

I didn't answer him, too intent on ducking down behind my menu again and straining my ears for more of Quinn and Alex's conversation. I barely registered Kazu leaving.

"Have you decided what you're going to order yet?" Alex asked conversationally.

"Not yet…" Quinn murmured absently, scanning her menu. It was hard to read on her face how she was feeling. Was she having a good time? Did she think the date was going well? Was she already hopelessly in love?

Then again, the date had only been going on for about three minutes. I guess there was a chance she didn't know the answers to those questions herself yet.

"I think I'll have the California rolls," Alex said, folding his menu and tucking it under his plate. "I remember my grandmother used to make the most amazing California rolls when I was a kid…see, she's actually Japanese."

"Oh, really?" Quinn said, sounding mildly interested. "So, are you half Japanese then?"

"A quarter, actually," said Alex. "My grandmother came to America during the Cold War. She met my American grandfather on the boat on the way over…"

As Alex continued to tell anecdotal stories about his family history, it suddenly struck me that this date had the potential to be really, really boring.

I'd never realized it before, but most first, second, and even third dates are ninety-nine percent small talk and getting-to-know-you, which might be interesting if you are one of the two parties involved but is in fact very dull if you are merely a third party ex-boyfriend spying on said first date.

Only half-listening to what was being said, I propped my menu up on the table so I was still mostly hidden and amused myself with my wooden chopsticks for a while, wondering when my water would arrive—how long did it take to pour a glass of water, anyway? Quinn and Alex ordered their food, and I forced myself to tune back into the conversation, which luckily had turned away from my-grandparents-came-over-on-the-Mayflower-during-the-Cold-War! talk.

"…didn't even know who Stephen Hawking was! Can you believe it?" Alex was saying with a chuckle. I wondered who he was talking about. Whoever it was, we probably had the potential to be very good friends: they sounded stupid, like me.

"Not really," Quinn said. She sounded a little listless and distracted. She, too, was playing with her chopsticks—it was in the little ways that Quinn and I were alike—and though it was still hard to tell, she didn't really seem that into what he was saying.

That really shouldn't have made me feel as relieved as it did, seeing as I wanted her to be happy and all…but I couldn't help it. I guess my selfless side just wasn't selfless enough to actually want her to be happy with Alex. I imagined my selflessness and selfishness as the little angel and devil you see on the shoulders of cartoon characters.

"So…" I could tell Alex was searching for something to say to his pretty unresponsive date. Ha ha, sucker. "Are you taking Advanced Multivariable Calc with Mr. Staats?"

I didn't get to hear her answer, because a face suddenly loomed over my menu and said "Mr. Reese?" loudly enough to be heard all the way in Connecticut.

Okay, fine, not quite that loud, but Quinn and Alex could have heard, anyway.

"Shh!" I hissed at the waiter, wishing Kazu had told him my request for anonymity (a word which, by the way, I have no idea how to pronounce). "Not so loud."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Reese," the waiter whispered, looking confused. "Here's your water."

"Thanks," I said, adjusting the menu with one hand to make sure it covered my face completely from the rest of the restaurant and taking the glass from him with the other hand. I took a long sip of ice-cold water and set the glass down, realizing the waiter was still hovering. I looked at him pointedly. He cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Reese, but water is free," he said apologetically. Personally, I didn't think that was anything to apologize over. Free stuff is good, right?

"Okay," I said, hoping he'd leave now. "That's fine."

Still, he hovered. Again, he cleared his throat.

"You see, if you sit down in this restaurant you have to be a paying customer. Water is free, so it does not count. But I'm afraid you must order something or leave, please, sir."

Oh, for the love of—I didn't want to order something I was feeling too depressed to eat, and have waiters constantly coming back and forth to my table, bringing my food and checking that it was satisfactory and taking it away and asking if I wanted to see the dessert menu. Still keeping my face covered, I dug my wallet out of my pocket and took out two twenties.

"Here," I said, handing him the bills. "I don't want anything; just take the money to pay for my table. Keep a tip, then don't come near here again or look in my direction or say my name, okay?"

I could tell there was going to be quite a lot of gossip about me in the kitchens later—probably all in Japanese, too—but the waiter took the money and walked away, leaving me _finally_ able to concentrate completely on Quinn and Alex's date.

Things weren't going so well when I tuned back in again. Well, not for me, at least. Things seemed to be going pretty well for _them_. Even though she still wasn't her usual lively self, he had made her laugh.

Laugh.

I thought back to about a week ago, to that time when he had made her laugh in class so I had flaunted her in front of him. That hadn't worked out so well in the long run. Now I had nothing to flaunt. He did.

"You still have the scar?" Quinn was saying in a tone of amused disbelief.

"Yep." Alex grimaced. "I'd show it to you, but—"

"No, that's okay." Quinn quickly cut him off, and they both laughed.

I felt like banging my head against the wall. When had they gotten all laughy-giggly? Had it been when I was talking to the waiter? I should have been paying more attention. But then, what could I have done? I'd promised myself not to interfere.

I had my confirmation. I knew she really would be happy now. I had nothing to worry about as far as that went. I felt like just getting up and leaving and having a good cr—um, weight training session. But I could hardly just walk out of the restaurant without being noticed. I was trapped.

"Hey, you know Gerald Schlute?" Alex asked when their laughter died down. Their food had been brought out, and he was digging in with relish—though somehow managing not to talk with his mouth full—while she was picking at her salad. She did look happier than she had a few minutes earlier, but her eyes had none of the spark, none of the life they'd used to. Her eyes were dead.

Because of me? Or because the salad was bad?

"Mmhmm," she answered his question. Everyone knew Gerald the King of Dorkdom.

"Well, he's totally obsessed with learning how to time travel. Firewire told me he quit Chess Club to focus completely on his goal—and he's starting by debunking Einstein."

Quinn laughed in appreciation. "And how is that coming for him?"

"He's attempting to argue in favor of the Brans-Dicke theory, but I don't think he realizes that neither that nor general relativity makes time travel possible. Personally, I think he's just watched _Back to the Future_ too many times."

"It's definitely an interesting concept, though," Quinn said, putting down her fork and taking a small sip of water.

"I don't think he cares about that—he probably just wants to go back in time so he can hit on his mom, like Michael J. Fox did."

"Alex! That's disgusting!" What was _really_ disgusting, to me at least, was that Quinn was actually giggling at that.

"Anyway," Alex went on with a grin, "It shouldn't be too long before Gerald gives up and goes back to Chess Club."

"But haven't they 'temporarily postponed' all Chess Club meetings while they mourn for Bobby Fischer?"

"Oh, right—Dean Rivers is furious with them. He says it's anti-American to mourn for him."

"Well, seeing as he was pretty much exiled from the country, I can see his point."

I didn't want to listen to all this crap about stuff and people I didn't know or things I didn't understand. All I knew was that I really, really hoped Gerald would succeed in debunking Einstein so I could go back in time and kill Alex, or prevent myself from breaking up with Quinn, or do _something_ that would get me out of this mess.

Of course, that would be selfish, but…

In an attempt to distract myself, I began to read the menu. Beneath each item in English was the same thing written in Japanese symbols. I tried to understand them. Maybe I could teach myself Japanese. That would be pretty cool.

Oh, right. I was too stupid for that.

All attempts to distract myself failed, and I only grew more miserable as the night went on. Quinn and Alex talked about everything, including lots more smart-people stuff I didn't understand. They laughed a lot. But her eyes never lost that dead look, and stupidly, that made me hope.

All the ice in my glass had melted and they were almost done with their meal when Alex leaned back in his chair and grinned at her.

"How was the salad?" he asked. She shrugged.

"It was fine." I noticed that when she wasn't caught up in conversation or laughter, she reverted back slightly to listlessness, as though talking was _her_ distraction and the quiet brought back with it whatever it was that was making her unhappy.

Alex nodded, stuffing his napkin under the rim of his plate. I think he noticed her mood, too, which was why he tried to reverse it by saying, "Tonight was fun, wasn't it?"

Quinn nodded, looking almost surprised. "Yeah, it was," she said; and was it just me, or did she sound kind of sad while saying that?

"I'm glad we did this." Alex reached inconspicuously across the table to take her hand, and just as inconspicuously, Quinn folded both of her hands beneath the table. Alex drew his arm back. Ha.

"It's interesting how things work out sometimes, isn't it?" he said, obviously still trying to rally her into a smile, or at least something approaching interest.

"What do you mean?" she asked, twisting her hands in her lap. I think she was afraid to put them back on the table, for fear he'd try to hold them again.

"Well, you know, how we get to wherever we are by way of a bunch of seemingly insignificant choices and decisions people make," he said. Okay, I could understand this, I could… "I mean, on the small scale, we're here right now because you didn't want to see Hawking's talk and because you accepted Mr. Smith's offer to student-teach Physics, and on the larger scale we're here because we both decided to come to PCA and because both of our sets of parents decided it would be a good idea to get married at some point—or just to procreate, anyway." He let out a chuckle.

"So…are you talking about Fate, or something?" Quinn asked. She didn't look quite _confused_, more like a little bit puzzled about why he was saying this stuff, but I still took comfort in the fact that I wasn't the only one who thought he was off his nut.

Fine, I probably was. But she still didn't look like she was completely buying it.

"Well, not quite…after all, even Fate needs a helping hand sometimes." Alex chuckled again, as though enjoying a private joke. "Do you think Reese would have seen the light all by himself if it had just been left to Fate? It could have been many wasted years before he finally figured it out."

Quinn had started at the sound of my name, and she now looked a mixture of surprised, curious, and confused. "What do you mean?" she asked in a measured voice.

"Well, he's not _that_ stupid, and he does care about you, so it wasn't hard to get him to realize the obvious—that you two go together like macaroni and peanut butter. He does have the capacity to understand, he just needs a helping hand sometimes. Once I'd convinced him that you really would be happier with someone…smarter, more like you, it really was just him—or Fate—that did the rest."

Wrong move, buddy.

Telling her your master plan? Not the smartest thing.

Quinn's look of confusion had slowly morphed into shock as he spoke, and now? She looked _furious_. I knew how much she hated it when people made decisions for her. And, I realized, that's pretty much exactly what Alex had done—made the decision to break us up. And yes, now everyone saw that he really was right, about her being happier with someone else and all that junk, but Quinn liked to figure out those sort of things on her own. Having people do it for her? Was pretty much unacceptable.

"So," she said in a strained voice, trying to make one last attempt to understand what had happened. Last chance to save yourself, Alex… "You…talked to Logan and…convinced him he was…too stupid to date me, or something?"

"Not quite in those words," Alex said, as though the fact that he hadn't come right out and said, _You're dumb, Reese,_ made what he _had_ said so much better. He hadn't picked up on Quinn's anger yet, and proceeded obliviously ahead. "I just said that, you know, in your best interest, he should probably let you find someone more on your _level_, you know?"

"No, I don't know," Quinn said, standing up abruptly. For the first time, it registered on Alex's face that she wasn't exactly a happy camper. In fact, she looked positively dangerous…I wondered what she was going to do to him. Zap watch? Ankle Laser? Slap him across the face? Ooh, maybe use those small spherical explosives of hers? I relished in the thought.

But no. She went for something a little more classic.

And that was grabbing a pitcher of ice-cube filled water from a passing waiter and dumping the full contents on Alex's head.

I had to stuff my fist in my mouth to hold back gleeful laughter.

Alex yelled and jumped to his feet, sopping wet and suddenly the laughingstock of the entire restaurant, whose occupants couldn't help but notice the straight-from-TV-moment. Quinn crossed her arms and opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it again and shook her head in disgust, as though he were simply too vile to waste her time dissing.

I was completely elated for the first time in about a week. Now that Alex was officially out of the way, maybe I could apologize, try to win her back, smarten up so I really _would_ be the best thing for her, screw Russian violinist boy…

—I had let my menu slip down too far, and as Quinn turned to leave our eyes met and locked—

…unless, of course, she found out I was spying on her date.

Oh. Crap.

Her eyes—no longer lifeless, but full of burning fire—grew first shocked, and then even _more_ furious. Knowing it was of no use, I quickly ducked behind my menu again, only to have it snatched away from my face a moment later. I took my time looking slowly up, up, into her eyes, filled with raging fire behind her glasses.

"Uh…" I cleared my throat nervously. "…Hi?" It sounded pathetic, even to me.

She didn't answer, but grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of my seat, past a bewildered, wet, and angry Alex, and outside into the cool night air. It was amazing: I'd never noticed how strong she was before she was pulling me forcefully through the restaurant. She let go of my wrist as soon as we got a little bit away from the noise and light of Sushi Rox, as though she couldn't bear to touch me any longer.

I looked very fixedly at her shoes, afraid to meet her burning, furious eyes. Why had I come on her date? I was just proving Alex's point over and over about how stupid I was.

The moments of tension-filled silence stretched on, but far be it from me to open my parched mouth and say something else stupid. I realized this was the closest I'd been to Quinn since we broke up. It took all of my self-control—not to mention my common sense—not to reach out and just kiss her right there. I _wanted_ to, but it was time to accept I never would again.

"Were you spying on my date?"

Her voice was calm and even, a complete contrast to her tightly crossed arms and glaring eyes. When I got really angry, I shouted and raged and sometimes threw things (though I had improved since those stupid Anger Management classes). When Quinn got really angry, she was quiet. And somehow her quietness was a thousand times scarier than if she'd yelled.

She was expecting an answer, but I didn't quite trust myself to speak, so I just nodded helplessly, still staring at her shoes.

"Why?"

Such a simple question, asked so calmly. Oh, how I wished she was yelling. Shouts and angry tears I could handle. This quiet disappointment and disgust was so much worse.

I wasn't sure how to respond, so I just shrugged.

"Why would you do that?" She didn't give me a chance to respond this time, but kept talking, her words coming out louder and faster and angrier as she went on. "What exactly were you trying to accomplish? Were you going to _sabotage _me or something? Have you ever heard of a thing called _privacy_? You had no right to do that, Logan! You broke up with me, remember, or did that slip your mind? I can't _believe_ you'd do that!"

She was on a roll now, nearly yelling, her face contorted in anger and her hands balled into fists. I was afraid if I so much as opened my mouth she might sock me one, so I took a deliberate step back. I'd changed my mind—I actually preferred the quiet disappointment and disgust.

"And you know what? Alex was right. You _are_ stupid. Stupid because you spied on my date, and because you _believed_ whatever crap he fed you, and because you pretty much _broke my heart_ without so much as an explanation or an 'I'm sorry'! You're stupid because you didn't come to me after he talked to you, didn't give _me_ a chance to have a say in this, and because you freaking _listened to him_! I can't believe you! You are so…_stupid_!"

She was screaming now, and my heart was breaking again, and the next thing I knew she had taken a step forward and quite forcefully kissed me.

Well, that was certainly unexpected.

But it's not like I was complaining or anything. Rather, I kissed her back with all the passion I had, all the loss and the heartache and the lovebuilt up over the last week. I wasn't exactly sure what was going on, if she still hated me or if this would be our last kiss or what, but I didn't allow myself to think about that. I just kissed her and let all thought processes stop for a few blessed moments. And as we kissed it was like the past week had never happened, and all my unhappiness and depression just melted away.

We finally broke apart, in dire need of oxygen, and I found that somehow during the kiss my arms had found their way around her waist and one of her hands was on my shoulder, the other touching my face. I didn't know if she was still mad at me, but this was the first time I'd held her in a week, and I wasn't about to let go. I figured it would be harder for her to punch me from this position, anyway.

I searched for words to say, something that would make up for all I'd done and somehow make me worthy of her, deep important words, but my mind was addled from the kiss and all I could come up with was, "I'm sorry."

She brushed some hair off my forehead and the slightest hint of a smile came on her face. I pulled her even tighter against me. That smile gave me hope.

"Doubting yourself?" she said in a much more subdued voice than she'd been using a minute earlier. "That's not the Logan Reese I know."

"I know," I said, then again: "I'm sorry."

She looked at me solemnly, and placed both hands on either side of my face. "You promise it won't happen again?" she asked.

"I promise," I said quickly. I'd promise her the moon if I had to.

"Good," she said, then leaned forward and kissed me again.

This kiss was shorter, but sweeter than the last (argh, I'm turning into a total sap), and I enjoyed it just as much. When we pulled away I grinned. "So does this mean you'll go out with me? Again? Please?"

She smiled. "Under one condition."

"Name it," I said. "Anything."

"I will go out with you, again, if you listen to what I say right now and promise not to forget," Quinn said. I paid strict attention. "I love you, _all_ of you, no matter how 'smart' you may be or how high your grades are or your IQ is. Not despite your intelligence, but because of it. You're a perfectly smart person, Logan Reese. Don't forget it."

I really didn't have anything to say to that, so I just kissed her.

We walked back towards her dorm hand-in-hand, and as we walked, I had to ask her something:

"Quinn?" I took a deep breath. I knew she said I was smart (and I wasn't going to forget it), but it was time to get smarter. "Who's Stephen Hawking?"

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